


Snapshots of an Unlived Life

by EikaPrime



Series: Snapshots [1]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Follows the Splatoon 1/2 storyline but very large gaps, I'll add character tags after the characters actually show up, Look it's got the rating because Pearl is Pearl okay, Pearl is just not G-rated, There is Pearlina by the end but that's REALLY not the point ok, Trying to make it all seem like it COULD be canon if you squint, spoilers for octo expansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 40,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EikaPrime/pseuds/EikaPrime
Summary: “It's funny because we're all living in a simulation and free will is a lie.” -Marina Ida, during the lead-up to the Chicken VS Egg SplatfestThere are many ways to interpret this statement: a philosophical statement before a philosophical splatfest. A freakish science fiction theory. A blatant fourth-wall break.Or a factual statement from a girl who's half-convinced she's wearing her hypno goggles and hallucinating. Just to let them know she knows none of this is real. And sooner or later, she's going to wake up and repair another Octobot.From the start of Splatoon 1's story mode through the Octo Expansion, let's look at some of the moments that made Marina... and the moments that broke her.
Series: Snapshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865257
Comments: 301
Kudos: 176





	1. Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna try to keep this canon, but there will be points where artistic license has to be used, primarily with either timeline or 'correct' sealife terms. Most notable part is going to be the term 'tentacles'. Technically, squids have eight arms and two tentacles, octopi have eight arms and no tentacles; however, in-game all Inkling limbs are referred to as either human body part names (leg, for example) or as a tentacle.

_We are Octolings,  
_ _And we do as we are told._  
_That's what makes us strong and true,  
_ _Keeps us brave and bold._

Marina and her family are on a hike up the mountain. The cool breeze ruffles through Marina's tentacles; she pushes one out of her eye and takes a few fast steps. "Bet I can get to the top first!"

"Betcha can't, tentacrop," snaps her brother, Harbor. He sticks his tongue out at her.

"Kids--"

"We're not kids anymore, Mom," says Marina. She glares at her younger brother, who's making his way to a fallen... it has a name, round brown thing. _Inconsequential._ No, no it's not, but don't worry. Enjoy it, it won't last. But he's balanced on it, suckers clinging, and using it to cross a line of water. "Least, I'm not. And I can be useful even without a full eight tentacles."

Marina sees her mother come closer, sees the hands on either side of her face, but feels nothing at the kiss on her forehead. "Of course you can. You're--"

**"Engineer Ida, decommence remembrance.** " The metallic voice in her head makes her flinch back, even after all this time, and she shakes her head, blinking fiercely. The pink-tinted sky, the tall brown plants, all of it disappears. Instead, she waits in ink with the other three members of her Splatoon, on a small metal platform a super jump above an even larger metal platform. **"The Mighty Octostomp has suffered a severe malfunction. Please gather pieces and return to base for improvements and repair."**

Marina lifts up from her ink to get a better look at the area. An explosion of orange--orange? no, just brighter pink than normal--ink surrounds a charred spot where, once, a juvenile zapfish lived.

The bass beats reverberating in Marina's skull tell her to be angry, so she's angry. Angrier than she would be anyway. Something went wrong. This part of their plan to retake the surface--all of the surface, not just the grounds of Mount Nantai she remembers walking--has failed.

But as her splatoon super jumps down to the field, and the ink stings her feet so she hisses and pulls out her octoshot and makes it the _proper_ shade of pink (pink, always pink, what other colors matter?) she tries to remember what Harbor's face looks like. And she can't. Because she's not in remembrance any more.

And the sky wasn't supposed to be pink, but in school they said it was something called blue.

And if she didn't know the name for those plants, she would've asked. She asks about _everything_. Which is why she turns to Engineer Sushi and asks, "When you were younger, did you ever climb the mountain?"

"Still in remembrance, Ida?" Sushi shakes his head and reaches over, tugging on her lucky tentacle--the one that makes her unfit for combat. "I did, when I wasn't much older than you. And my younger sibling, she'd have been about fourteen and just getting the hang of octoling form, challenged me to a race and balanced on a fallen plant over a moving water line." Sushi's smile softens. "You remind me of her, sometimes."


	2. Design

_We are Octos,  
_ _Proud and True!_  
 _Mess with us,  
_ _And we'll splat you!_

Marina sits at her drafting table, one in a line of tables. Sushi in front of her, two Splatoon members behind her, another splatoon on either side. Sketches of the broken octostomp, in its original, finished form, are clipped to the edges. All sides. All angles. She examines it all from the glow of her tentacles.

Designed as a crushing weapon, of course, and the inking is almost secondary, but what if it wasn't? The control tentacle had to stick out to be any good, of course, so that left them with two problems: the lack of ink and how easy it was to climb.

Marina loses herself in the project, piano tinkling in her ears, urging her to calm controlled lines and thoughts. Flooders, miniature ones, tethered to the tentacle's side; they could be shot out as it ran, to glaze the area around it in ink, and nothing could get near the tentacle with them circling it.

Footsteps beside her. Marina can't see her side, not with the goggles, so she turns to look. Head engineer Sashimi reaches out a pink-tinged tentacle and taps her drawing. "Another fine idea, Ida," she says, and ink rushes to Marina's cheeks. "Youngest member of the engineers, but you'll be leading your own splatoon as soon as there's an opening, I swear it. Are the goggles bothering you?"

Marina nods. "They feel tight, today," she explains. "And I can't see everything."

Sashimi hums and runs her finger between Marina's head and the straps. "Must be another growth spurt. I'll get you a bigger pair. Try some other ideas."

Other ideas? Marina stares at Sashimi's pink back. Why would she--

The piano changes to a single flute, holding long, quiet notes, and Marina's mind quiets as well. Of course. The flooder design is too complicated, requires too much effort. Can't just be run off ink and tentacles, it'd almost need its own zapfish. They can't do that.

Marina's next drawing doesn't add anything, doesn't change anything. Just a simple, unclimbable surface held on with a strap. Only vulnerable part was the strap itself, and anyone who shot it would be crushed. Impenetrable. Invincible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep this canon compliant. I've done... a fair bit of research; I think I can quote all the chat messages from Octo Expansion. But there are some things I can't be sure of, as I quintuple- and deduple-check sources and try to separate fact from headcanon from delightful tidbits of other people's fanfictions in my head.
> 
> I got a Wii U, and Splatoon 1, about... oh, three months ago, now. So while I can look up dialogue, I can't confirm random details like where you'd go to sign up for a splatfest in Splatoon 1 (I neither confirm nor deny the possibility of Marina getting to join in a Splatoon 1 splatfest). I also can't seem to get a Nintendo Network ID, so I can't play online/go in any shops/do ANY multiplayer things, so if I mention something and you go 'wait, no, that's really X' tell me and I'll fix it best I can.
> 
> Second, does anyone read Japanese? Because the Splatune 2 CD had an interview with Marina, and you can find the Japanese version in the wiki/with a google search, but Google Translate... really doesn't help me much. I don't want to contradict anything canon here.
> 
> (Seriously, though, this timeline? Trying to piece together exactly when Marina'd get to the surface is a mess. I'm cross-referencing so many sources I'm losing track of them.)


	3. Music

_Octavio is King;  
_ _Octavio is King.  
_ _He'll lead our minds  
_ _To the sunshine  
_ _Octavio is King._

Raise the bass.  
Adjust the mikes.  
Engineer Ida of Splatoon 8,088 was in charge of the speakers.  
She was in charge of the sound.  
And what a sound.

Strength. Defiance. Triumph--undeniable, unshakable, pure, _perfect._ The Octobot King, piloted by King Octavio, in all its glory? No inkling could stand against this.

Nothing could go wrong. The computer in front of her was untouchable, the speakers were--

The speakers made horrific scratching sounds. Marina abandoned her spot by the others of her splatoon, leaped towards the backups; the others would jump into battle, but she wasn't cleared for it, the speakers were _her_ responsibility, and-

New music came out.  
Marina stopped in her tracks. Almost touching the speakers.  
Her goggles shattered.

Marina fell over. She didn't turn into an octo; she didn't sink into her ink. She just lay there, on the floor, her eyes wide.

She could _see_. Nothing was tinted pink; everything was bright and colorful and hurt her eyes, but she blinked away tears, because lights flashing purple and blue and lining paths in red, orange and purplish-red ink, the movement, the glory of the octobot king hovering with green and—and—and Marina was crying. Marina was crying, because the _music_. She had never heard music like this before.

This wasn't music telling her to behave.  
There were no orders in this music.  
There was nothing calm, or controlled, or... or...

Music could be as simple as making someone  _happy_ and want to  _move_ and believe they can do anything, with or without the hypno goggles that everyone said was the key to society.

Marina closed her eyes, but she could still see the lights, colors she'd seen named and pictured in her schoolbooks. She covered her ears, but the music sang through her body, and all her hearts beat to it. There was something more hopeful than being a good and faithful and loyal octoling, more amazing than the Octobot King, more glorious than King Octavio, and for this brief moment, it found her.

And even though it hurt, she opened her eyes, uncovered her ears, and let herself  _live_ in it, one breath of determination, of persistence, of freedom at a time.

“This changes _everything.”_


	4. Sight

_Combat Engineer Splatoon 8088  
_ _Splatted:  
Three  
_ _Recovered:  
_ _One  
_ _Marina Ida  
_ _Located dazed and confused, staring at the Octobot King's remains in silence.  
_ _Hypnogoggles shattered by inkling interference.  
_ _Rehabilitation program to commence._

The first thing they do, once Marina's back in the wasabi unit's dorms and certified physically sound (or as sound as she ever was), is give her a new pair of hypno goggles. Marina has never needed anything the way she needs those goggles—not food, not water, not even DJ Octavio. She clutched the old pair to her, wore them pushed up on her forehead, kept pulling them down to see if they'd work again, if they helped, shattered lenses and all. She even keeps them when she gets the new goggles, and they let her, because she'd been traumatized. She won't need them long.

Once she has new goggles, she knows, everything will be right with the world.

It's not.

She goes to breakfast with the other soldiers on leave or recovery.

She sits at a pristine red table, sliding onto the end of the newly-carved bench.  
She sits at a cracked table that looks as though it may fall apart; splinters poke everywhere.

She eats a plate full of delicious-looking seaweed, rice, and fish.  
She eats a plate full of nameless brown goop dotted with salmonid eggs.

Pictures on top of pictures, and Marina can't tell which is real and which is fake, and is there something  _wrong_ with her new goggles? Or is there something wrong with  _her_ ?

“Engineer Ida.”

Marina looks up. Standing at the head of the table is an Elite Octoling. “Present.”

“When you have finished your meal, please follow me to your rehabilitation station.”

Marina thrusts aside the remains of her seaweed goop with salmonid rice (what is it?  _which_ is it?) and pulls it back towards her at the elite's frown. She knows better than to waste food.

But it almost comes back up as soon as they leave the building.

Two movies play simultaneously, not a dozen feet away.

In one, dozens of Octolings and Octarians are ferried away from an old bridge by trained workers in safety vests, some of whom are set with tools to demolish it.  
In the second, the bridge collapses, sending dozens of Octolings and Octarians into the abyss below while everyone grumbles and goes for a detour.

The sounds in her ears could be complaints or fading screams just as easily.

Marina grabs for her goggles, to yank them off, to know  _which_ picture is the right one, but hesitates because there's unnamed music singing behind her thoughts and she thinks she knows and she doesn't want to and then it's too late and her guide's grabbed her shoulder. “Keep up, Engineer Ida.”


	5. Sound

_Musical Rehabilitation  
_ _Tasked with rewiring and improving the Octobot King  
_ _Close exposure to proper music will reduce subject's stress after negative exposures.  
_ _Long-term progress is assured._

Marina runs her thumbs over the turntables, scratching them slightly, letting the music's disruption settle into her skin. Here, in the (new/old pristine/cracked) red-tinted room, musical instruments--all pristine, new, in perfect condition, no matter what direction she looks at them--await her touch.

Marina got assigned to the Wasabi Unit for two reasons: She was a brilliant engineer and she understood enough about music to make sure the Octobot King worked. The music in her ears, piano and flute, tell her to stay at her station and work; she scratches the turntables again.

The music makes her want to stay, but it can't compete with the double vision or singing in her brain. And no one else is in here. Doing something else is uninkable, the very idea hurting her brain, jarring with the sounds around her. The sounds ordering her.

She is an octoling, she's brave and bold and does as she's told.  
But another song hums in the back of her brain, and before she can second-guess herself, Marina takes off her goggles.

She wants them again as soon as they're off, a deep, burning _need_ that clenches her gut and makes her breath shake, but nothing is red and the music isn't orders and she sets them down and steps away with a sort of nakedness she hasn't felt since she was still a blob of arms and ink. She pulls her old goggles down, and they don't make things red anymore, they don't cause the double vision, but she feels less naked that way.

She wanders away from the turntables, running her fingers over the drums, tinkling a couple notes on the keyboard. One strikes her.

Wasn't that...?

She hits it again. There it is: the first note of the song she heard when her goggles broke. And the second note... lower... there. And the third was the same as the first.

She doesn't know the words, can't speak Inklish, but she hums to herself and finds note after note, tapping out a crude, baby version of the song she heard. Then she looks for other notes. Complements. Harmonies. She can't name any of the notes she plays, the sounds she hears, but it makes her hearts beat smiles.

She plays it on keyboard. On drums. Blows it on the flute. And when they catch her scratching it on turntables, singing, she's reprimanded for inappropriate rhythms, and promised a new pair of hypnogoggles the next day.


	6. Work

_Combat Engineer Ida cleared for duty  
_ _Assigned to Splatoon 8888  
_ _Assignment: Material Collection  
_ _Notes: Engineer Ida has taken to removing her hypnogoggles since her incident during the Great Despair. Due to her history and future potential, she will be assigned a pair of hypnoshades upon her return to Octo Valley, sector 1. This should permanently correct her problems._

Eighty squads are on material collection: scouring the bottom of the domes for anything useful. Marina, as the newest member of her splatoon, has the drudge work of picking up the metal and wires and building materials her splatoon members found and hauling it to the collections pile, then returning for another load. Again and again.

If that's even where Marina is. Sure, she sees the piles of warped metal, bundles of frayed wire, buckets of mushrooms she carries. But over it, behind it, through it, she's been with her family since she woke up. Her wake-up was both the shouts of the drill leader and her mother calling her to breakfast; her meal was both porridge with nuts and more brown goop with something that looked disturbingly like a tentacle before she squeezed her eyes shut and ate; she's underground carrying bundles of... of... but she's also helping her family clear ground for what will, someday, be _their_ home above ground.

It makes her dizzy and her stomach hurt, in the wide-open pink-tinted air above below ground surrounded by other octolings. She wants to take her working goggles off because then she'll know what's real, but she _needs_ the goggles, and taking them off is impossible anyway with so many others around to notice. Unless she's really outside, with her family. She still wears the broken ones, on her forehead, in both realities.

That song is in her head again. She hums along to it. It's just been there, _stuck_ , ever since that day. Which was when she didn't have working goggles.

When she goes to take them off, her (brother/commanding officer) grabs her wrist.

"What's the matter, tentacrop? Can't keep up?"  
"There's nothing wrong with your hypnogoggles, Ida."

And then she's carrying bundles of (plant matter/metal) with her (brother/squad) and knows the one that's real is the one she doesn't want to live in.

"I'm sorry, Harbor," She mumbles, still following him; he pauses to look back at her, but the octoling he overlays doesn't react. "But I can't live this way."

Harbor keeps moving forward. They've reached the plant, fallen over the moving water; he climbs up on it. Like everyone does, when she goes here with them. "But isn't this what you want?" he asks. "Or, if you're outgrowing this, then I guess you could date or whatever."

Marina shakes her head, her cheeks burning, and sets her load down beside his. "No," she says, as octolings walk through and around him and the plants alike. "I want to... to be _out there_. For real."

Her brother nods. "That's going in your file. I'll tell Mom; she'll do something."


	7. Escape

_Combat Engineer is not a title for the faint of hearts.  
_ _We don't just change the world; we make it.  
_ _Engineers make Octobots. Engineers repair the domes._  
_And we can't do anything until we get more power.  
_ _ Remember _ _that, engineers. If we do our jobs, Octolings will never need the power to do anything else._

"You're being difficult, Combat Engineer Ida," says Sashimi. "I told you before: this room is  _sealed."_

Marina stays in her octo form and uses the suckers on her tentacles to climb the wall. She hasn't tried the ceiling corners yet. "I don't want to wear them." The statement comes out as a whisper. "They make me see things. _Wrong_ things."

"They allow you to operate properly in society." Sashimi crosses the room and reaches a hand up to Marina. One at a time, she pries Marina's tentacles off the wall and wraps them around her arm; the last tentacle, short enough to have only one sucker, can't hold on alone. Sashimi gathers Marina the octopus in her arms and rocks her. "The new hypnoshades are perfect. You won't even know you're wearing them."

That, more than anything, is what Marina is afraid of.

She pulls herself into her octoling form and twists out of Sashimi's grip. "But none of it is _real_ ," Marina snaps, curling her hands into fists. "I'd—I'd rather be splatted."

Sashimi shakes her head. "You've been irrational ever since the loss of our leader. I know we've all been greatly affected by King Octavio's disappearance, but-"

"It's not his disappearance, it's the _song."_ Why can't anyone get that? "It changed _everything_."

Sashimi stares at her, shock apparent even under her hypnogoggles.

Marina starts to hum.

Sashimi turns her back and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Marina runs to inspect it, but no. It's sealed again. She's trapped. She can't escape, she _knows_ she can't escape, but she can't help it--

The door opens, slamming into her and knocking her down. Sashimi leads in a splatoon. She has a small, protective case in hand—Marina's stomach lurches. She doesn't stand a chance.

She tries anyway. It doesn't take long. Not when there are four octolings to hold her down.

"Finished now, Ida?" Sashimi asks, when Marina's restrained. Sashimi snaps open the case. "This is for your own good."

Marina hangs her head, fights back tears, knowing they won't help.They're giving her the new ones now. The _better_ ones. The ones--

The floor shakes, knocking them off balance. Two of them let go of her. Sashimi drops the glasses.

At least one heart climbs into Marina's throat. The domes are falling apart. She's seen it. And here she is, trapped—sure, she said she'd rather be splatted, but really--

The floor drops a foot. Marina screams. Dust falls from the ceiling. The other octolings release her.

Marina's across the room and back in octopus form before she even looks to see if there are cracks—but there are. There are, there _are,_ and she squeezes through into absolute calm, as the octolings around her part around and away from the broken ground, some grumbling about the inconvenience.

Marina moves faster than she knew she could to get to solid ground, then stays there, trembling in every tentacle, looking around. The building hasn't dropped any further. If she's found, she'll have to wear the hypnoglasses. If she stays, she'll be found.

There's only one thing to do.

Marina pulls down her broken goggles. She locates the nearest edge. And she starts to climb. A song in her head. Hearts aching with fear, and determination, and—and _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Octo Expansion, we get a peek at Marina Ida's military file. She went AWOL at age 16, after hearing Calamari Inkantation; before vanishing, she was heard saying 'This changes everything.' But having her vanish the same day as the concert seemed... unlikely, which is why you got the interlude.
> 
> We also don't know exactly how the hypnoglasses and goggles work. You've got a new theory for it now, everyone.


	8. Red

_Red is the color of darkness.  
_ _Not black, children. Black is the color when there is no light at all, no hope, no truth. Red is the color of darkness, because it's the strongest of lights and the one that won't hurt your eyes down here.  
_ _Light is a resource, like anything else, and must not be wasted._  
_That is why our goggles are red, children, as is our ink. To help you gather the light. To give you hope in the worst of times.  
_ _And to remind you that if you see another color, either we are finally free or something has gone terribly, catastrophically wrong._

Marina knows she's at the surface when the light is so bright she can't see anything.

She doesn't know how long she's been escaping—finding she can't go any higher, climbing back down, picking another path. Eating whatever she can find. But it's gotten brighter and brighter.

And now it's so bright she squeezes her eyes shut against it and sees red.

Red?

Her hearts pound. She tries to ignore the red (as her ink, as her hypnogoggles). She feels warmth on her face. Air moves against her skin. Tiny noises surround her, not creaks and groans and Octoling grumbles, but water pouring and... okay, the water's definitely doing _something_ : roaring, sloshing, moving in ways she can't identify. And what's that, it sounds like a flute almost, but so _tiny_ and she's never heard it so _fast_ and there's that far-off cry that's not in any language and...

It's no use. She can see red with her eyes closed. Red, like everything's tinted when she's wearing the goggles. _Red_. And the new ones are supposed to be perfect. You can't tell they're on.

She pushes her broken hypnogogles up her forehead, but it doesn't change. She rubs her eyes, but just like in any remembrance—back when they _worked_ , anyway—it feels normal. Just like she's rubbing her eyes.

She was an idiot to think this was a real escape. They just heard her tell that fake Harbor that she wanted to be _out there_ , and some new remembrances were made for her. She's probably been hauling backpacks of materials all around the dome for the past cod-knows-how-long, and they'll wake her up to keep fixing the Octobot King in another day or two. She should have _known_ that collapse was too convenient.

Nothing she can do about it now. She might as well open her eyes and see what sort of nonsense they've concocted this ti--

Marina forgets to breathe.

Marina knows colors, of course. Like every good octoling, she learned them young, right along with reading and writing and cleaning her octoshot. Red is the easiest to see in the dark, travels the farthest, then orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. They could change, she was told, if you added white or black, but unless you were an elite and fought alone there was no point to shades of red. And they must all be red. But she'd never even _seen_ them, until the song played and her goggles broke, and she soaked up those bright flashes of electric light.

But _this_.

The wide, open expanse before her isn't even slightly pink. It's--she'd been told the sky was blue before, wrote it on her tests, and she'd pictured it the same color as the picture in her book, a strong bold thing. She'd been told that water on the surface was often blue as well, or sometimes green, and laughed at the thought of it. But this...

She doesn't know what to call it, _which_ to call it, but she knows what it is.

The most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

So even though none of this is real, even though she knows the reprimand will leave her screaming, she changes her ink to match it. From now on, she isn't red. She isn't Combat Engineer Ida.

She is Marina. And her color is _free_.


	9. Caught

_Of all the illogical thing about Inklings, nothing matches their unpredictability.  
_ _They're prone to sleeping half the day and waking half the night.  
_ _Parties for no reasons._ _ Torture  _ _for no reason._  
_Remember, children: you will gain nothing by trying to predict such creatures.  
_ _Either kill them or avoid them._

Marina swallows hard as she makes her way through the city streets. It's late night, or maybe early morning; the sky's dark, but it's bright enough here that she can't see the lightpoints that hypnotized her the first two days. She's propelled on by her growling stomach.

This is a punishment, but she has to see it through. They know she doesn't like the hypnoglasses, will try to take them off, so they're going to make her hungry (not starving, they won't _kill_ her) and she can either go back or go to the fake city she can see. The smell of food _taunts_ her, pulls her forward, to busier places. And this section on the edge, this is quiet, but she turns a corner--

Cephalopods spill out of a door, laughing loud enough the noise is its own echo. Marina flinches back, into a doorway. At a glance, they could be Octolings: walking on two legs, two arms, tentacles for hair, shirts matching almost like a uniform. Too _many_ tentacles for hair, though, and skinnier, and if they have any suction cups they're hidden.

Inklings. Every octoling's mortal enemy.

And she's creeping further and further into a _city_ full of them.

The group rushes in the direction she's heading. Marina waits, scarce breathing, until they're certainly gone, then steps forward again.

The closer she gets to that delicious smell, the further into the city she gets.

The further into the city she gets, the worse it'll be when she's discovered. Probably tortured. And there are more and more groups of inklings every _minute_.

But she needs the food. And her nerves aside, she doesn't need to be quiet. There's so much noise up ahead that an inkling couldn't possibly hear her breathing. Shouting, laughing. Music: not the song she knows, but something just as happy and hopeful, and it squeezes her hearts as she keeps moving forward.

Something wraps around her shoulders from behind, and she squeaks, spinning on the spot and throwing it off. Two inklings stand there--it was an arm, an _inkling arm_ , thrown about her shoulders, and now they're both laughing, one pointing at the other who has his arms in the air.

Marina braces herself. This is it.

The inkling boy grabs her shoulder again, and says something. Marina pulls away, crosses her arms, and shakes her head. She makes herself as small as she can. If... if she's _not_ wearing hypnoglasses, maybe they'll have pity. Maybe... but instead the inklings exchange glances, the girl shaking her head in bewilderment, before they each grab one of Marina's arms and pull her forward, talking so fast her head spins.

Oh, cod. They're  _taking_ her somewhere to better torture her. Whatever the people behind the glasses think will make her obey them better. She's going to be splatted--well, if not splatted, be grievously injured.

But she doesn't struggle. There's no point. There's at least a dozen other inklings around now, all in purple and orange shirts, and she knows she can't escape and she'd've been caught eventually. Especially since they keep dragging her closer to that wonderful smell.

They emerge in a large open area, decorated in lights of so many colors Marina can't name them at a glance. Large flat-topped vehicles set up on opposite sides, have singers (one in pink, one in green) performing on top of them. Buildings with wide-open doors stand all around. The biggest, straight ahead, has some sort of stand in front of it, a jellyfish standing behind it; the inklings drag her there, push her in front of it, let her go.

Marina just blinks, put her hand on the counter, looks around. Inklings all around her, all in either purple or orange shirts, save for a few others coming to this counter. What in the domes--

The jellyfish places two shirts in front of her. One purple, one orange.

They're giving her a choice. Does she want to be beaten with octobrushes, or... the other one's probably poison, though probably not lethal. Neither is red, neither the obvious choice, so Marina closes her eyes and points.

The cheering that surrounds her nearly breaks her nerve, and someone grabs her, twirls her into a hug, and before Marina's figured out what's happening, she's got the shirt on over her octo armor and is sitting at a table on one side with cod-only-knows how many inklings in matching shirts _completely ignoring her_. Talking to each other, staring at small glowing rectangles in their hands, and it's...

It's just...

What.

One of the inklings who dragged her here plops down at the table with her, two plates in hand. He shoves one at her, grins, and starts to eat the stuff on his own plate.

Marina stares at him, then all around her, tugging absently at the strap of her hypnogoggles with one finger. More inklings are coming, filling up the square; lights move in intricate patterns. Inklings in t-shirts stream in and out of the largest, central building; a screen above the door shows an ink battle going on elsewhere, between two splatoons of opposing shirt colors.

Marina picks up her food triangle the way the inklings do and bites into it. Flavor—the most amazing thing she's ever tasted—seeps into her tongue, and she closes her eyes. The hum of talk surrounds her; music that makes her want to laugh and dance and shout echoes in her soul from the performers,

She doesn't know what's happening.

If these were real inklings, she'd be killed.

She should've been tortured.

So the people giving her these remembrances must have a plan.

Marina takes another bite of that heavenly food and comes to only one conclusion.

Inklings are _weird_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name that splatfest!
> 
> More realistically, if Splatoon 1's story mode began when the game was released (May 29), and Hero Mode took place in a realistic length of time, it would take a while. Each dome would take a full day, maybe more, plus finding the kettles and the time needed to return the retrieved baby zapfish. If the five areas took five weeks--which is a very simple conversion and the shortest I can think of that'd be the slightest bit realistic-- then Octavio's boss fight would be in early July. August is more realistic. Then Marina has to get to Inkopolis, and... well.


	10. Hope

_Above all else, the invention of hypnogoggles has ensured the Octarian's survival.  
_ _Anyone wearing them will do as they're told, whatever their preference: whether it's farming for mushrooms, repairing the domes, or patrolling the perimeter to protect against further Inkling attacks.  
_ _And it does all this by providing the wearer with the illusion of freedom, independence, and security. Adolescents spend time with their parents and peers; even rebellious actions are controlled and used for the greater good. Adults have many customized scenarios, each of which will occupy them for years._  
_Many Octarians forget they're wearing them; to them, the illusions are real. It's better that way.  
_ _They're the happy ones._

Marina plays the last notes and lets the song fade out as the small crowd of inklings around her clap. Two of them throw shells in the box by her side, but the rest hurry on down the street. Marina glances in the box and smiles anyway. Sure, she's not getting  _much_ money, but she knows how to use it now. If she needs to.

She starts another song: Calamari Inkantation. She knows the words to this one, so she can sing along, and that gets people turning towards her even if it isn't half as good as when the Squid Sisters do it. Most people walk by, but she's got a dozen standing around by the song's end, and three of them give her something this time.

Still, it's getting late, and even if the Inklings stay up half the night, she doesn't. She takes the money out of the box and ties it in her splatfest t-shirt, puts her keyboard in--carefully, so it doesn't snap in half again--and gets to her feet when another inkling walks up. He has something in his hands that smells  _delicious._ "I don't really need the leftovers," he says, thrusting the container at her.

Marina makes herself smile, even though he's an  _inkling_ he's her  _enemy_ no no no she can't think that way. "Thank you," she says instead.

He smiles. “Hey, even broken, those goggles are fresh.  _And_ you can play. That deserves something. ”

Marina smiles politely (what does it mean, that something is fresh?) and watches the inkling disappear into the crowd. She puts the food in the box with her keyboard and starts making her way through the streets.

Home, at least for now, is a spot near the edge of town. The stream bed is dry and there's a dip in the bridge's underside that's nearly invisible to passerby. She leaves her keyboard there, grabs the food, and sits on top of the bridge to watch the sunset.

Red again. Her evening reminder that the hypnoglasses are flawed. She'll get them off someday.

But right now, she has things to do. Like eat the slice of  _amazing_ pizza (sometimes, the existence of pizza makes her think she may have gotten the glasses off after all). Then she takes out her stained, torn copy of One Squid, Two Squid and makes her way through it. She knows the words; it was one of a dozen books read to little squiddos at the book place last week. But matching the words to the marks on the page takes practice. She has another book, Fish On Wheels, but she can only guess at most words.

With that chore over with, Marina goes back under the bridge and layers her dozen holey blankets; she'll need more soon, it's getting cold at night and they barely soften the ground. Then she counts her money... just enough. Splatfest shirt on--inklings are so  _strange_ \--she hoists the stained bag she rescued yesterday and heads for Makomart.

Marina feels out of place here. The last week, she learned that Makomart sets aside a lot of things that didn't sell to compost: vegetables that were just a little old, fruits, foods she can't even name. She's been taking her fill from that. But tonight, she's on a mission.

Humming Calamari Inkantation under her breath for courage, Marina tries to look like an Inkling. She walks past the rows and rows of food to a small aisle, picks out the biggest pink-and-green Squid Sisters sticker there, stands in line, and holds out her money.

She gets back a much  _smaller_ amount of money and a bag to hold her precious squid sisters sticker. Marina clutches it to her chest and runs out.

This may not be real, but the Squid Sisters are a promise that someday, it  _could_ be.


	11. Nature

_Some of you question why we can't stay in the dark forever. Question why we can't just find other energy. Why we can't be here, and happy.  
_ _For every moment we take for granted, the surface has a thousand._  
 _And Inklings--selfish, lazy, and stupid--are keeping us from it.  
_ _We can't have that, can we?_

When Marina locates Mount Nantai, she has to take a deep breath and hum Calamari Inkantation to herself three times. This is a test, and she's not sure what will pass it.

She can't imagine why wearing hypnoglasses would lead to her thinking she was living with inklings, but then, she wasn't being very obedient. And she knows that, outside the engineers and a few other essential sectors, some octolings go their entire lives in remembrance. And a lot of remembrances are the same: octolings hike the same forests, have almost the same conversations, live almost the same lives in their minds.

Her disobedience, and the hypnoglasses, may have lead to a lot of new content. But this is Mount Nantai. If she finds the path she and Harbor hiked together... well, then she'll be sure. Every time she's come here with someone, they've walked along that dead plant over the flowing water. Everyone she's ever asked has had that happen. It's the best test she knows of, and she _needs_ to test this.

Because she's _never_ spent this long in a remembrance before. And sometimes, when she wakes up, it takes her a while to remember it isn't real. She's writing a song about it, on the two halves of her keyboard that she bought some tape to hold together, scrounged some wires from even-more-broken items and got the fake drums working. High and low, ebb and flow, she's just gotta keep going.

There's a number of trails marked for inklings, with different colored dots on a sign, and on the trees, to indicate which is which. Several paths start at the same place, but that's okay. She has food enough for a couple days, she's got a second book to read, and her spot under the bridge kept her mostly dry in yesterday's storm. She can check all the paths, or even come back again in a few weeks if she has to spend that extra money on another blanket (she's shivering through every night, now, and the leaves aren't green, and she's got a second t-shirt and everyone spends those weekends just _giving_ each other stuff. Which is good, because she wouldn't play music then even if anyone was listening. She HAS to listen to the Squid Sisters. EVERY. TIME.)

If she finds it, then she knows. None of this is real. It's just another remembrance. And the leaves, red and orange and yellow... they're just the glasses messing up again.

She doesn't want this to be fake.

But she needs to know.

So, after a moment's thought, she picks the red circle path and starts on her way.

It takes Marina an hour to decide this can't be it: she stumbles upon something _completely_ new. In a clearing just off the path, water cascades into the open and splashes into a pool before narrowing into a river and sweeping away. Marina steps off the path to stare at it, dumbfounded. It's not very high; maybe twice as tall as she is. But the way the water sparkles creates... those must be rainbows, tiny ones. And there's a buzzing sound from up top, like a motor. Is it all artificial? No, the sound is getting louder,

"BOOYAH!"

Marina jumps back. An inkling, standing on a curved board with a motor on the back, shoots off the top of the falling water, does a triple flip, misses the river entirely and crashes into the ground stomach-first. The motor on the board lifts her legs in the air and forces her into another half-flip, slamming her legs and back into the ground again and snapping the board in half before the motor dies.

Marina scrambles over. "Are you all right?" she asks, saying each word as clearly as she can.

"nnnnnngh," the girl on the ground moans, squints open her eyes, then closes them. "Turn off the _sun_."

“Uh,” Marina says. She looks up at the sky, then kneels beside the inkling. Is that even possible? “I don't know how.” She looks the inkling up and down. “You're not inking. I think you're okay.”

The inkling waves her arm in the air. “Of course I'm okay! I've taken more hits while crowdsurfing! A little fall like that wouldn't hurt MC Princess, AKA The Danger Princess, AKA Punk Rapper Supreme.” She opens her eyes, looks at Marina, then closes them again. “Or the helmet did squit and I'm hallucinating all this. That's also possible.”

Marina has no idea what squit is, but cod, does she feel the rest of it. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the person I almost landed on is half naked.”

Marina rolls her eyes. What is _with_ inklings and their obsession with clothing? “I've been walking a lot. I got hot.”

The inkling pushes herself to a sitting position. “You got hot hiking. In _October_. So you took off your clothes?”

“No,” Marina says. “I knew I'd get hot, so I only wore this.”

“You only...” The inkling pulls her helmet off, shakes out her bobbed pink tentacles, and inspects it. “Not dented... okay, what's _wrong_ with you?” she demands.

Marina stares at the inkling. “We do it all the time back home. What about _you?_ You just jumped—you just—I'm not even sure _what_ you just did, but there was loads wrong with it.”

The inkling flops back down, helmet in hand. “I got rescued by a country rube,” she mutters. “Look, I attached a motor to my dad's old snowboard, okay? It was _awesome!_ I was gonna do the _best_ jump off that waterfall.”

It's called a water fall? How... self explanatory. “You did,” Marina says. “You missed.”

"Then I'll do it again," says the inkling. "It will be _superfresh_ , ya know?"

"It broke."

"I'll buy another." The inkling pushes herself up again. "What's your name?"

No one's asked her that here. Marina swallows. "Marina," she says, though she's not supposed to. She's had enough of being called 'Ida' for several lifetimes. And if this inkling calls her Ida anyway...

"Marina, okay. Look, Marina, it's nice that you tried to save me and all, but you seriously can't walk around like that, okay? I don't know what hick thing they do in the country--"

"To start with, when someone introduces themselves, we introduce ourselves back," Marina snaps.

The inkling laughs. It sounds hysterical. Maybe she _did_ hit her head. "Pearl," says the inkling. "Pearl Houzuki." She yanks the board pieces off her feet and drops them, stands up. "And I've gotta _go_."

Marina glances at the sky and grimaces. She'd better go, too; it's getting late. Sleeping in Inkopolis, with her blankets and keyboard and stash, will be a lot safer than sleeping here.

Not twenty steps down the path, Pearl stops to glare at her. "Why are you followin' me?"

This inkling has to be the _strangest_ Marina's met so far. "I'm not."

"Well, I'm goin this way, and I don't recall asking _you_ to come with!"

Marina raises her eyebrow. "Do you know a _better_ way down the mountain?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Well, I live in Inkopolis now, so I'm going this way." Marina crosses her arms and walks past Pearl pointedly. _Inklings_.

And if anything, Pearl is now following _her_ . "You live in Inkopolis now? Where'd ya live before? What sort of clothes do they wear there? Why are you wearing _that_? It's so dirty and old."

Marina shakes her head. This _inkling_ is... but if she answers, and it's not a hypnoglasses illusion... better to just keep quiet. Instead, Marina hums as she walks. Calamari Inkantation first, then just anything, letting her voice rise and fall with the scenery.

And she trips over her own feet when Pearl starts humming along in harmony. Pearl races ahead to look at Marina. "You're good! Where'd you hear that song?"

"There was this big party in Inkopolis, a few weeks back--"

"You mean the splatfest." Pearl's eyes widen. "Don't tell me they don't have splatfests where you're from!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Octo Expansion, chat 8, the two met on Mount Nantai. Pearl thought Marina was a country bumpkin (and a stalker). Pearl also has a picture of Marina from around when they first met, with Marina in Octo Army clothing, goggles on her forehead, feeding Judd a fish and looking delighted. I couldn't figure out how to get Judd in here for that part...
> 
> Posted this today because sometimes, if you need to see something good in the world, you have to make it yourself. I hope all of your days are going better than they could be right now.


	12. Fresh

_We might have an issue. Looks like the kettles in Octo Valley aren't the only ones._

_Gramps shook his bamboozler at you, too? But we've got splatfests to deal with._

_It's fine, he's got Three searching for their other locales. That's not the problem.  
The problem is, it's possible for an octarian to just... climb out, no kettles needed._

_And the first thing they'll do is look for Octavio._

_And try to figure out our identities, probably infiltrate Sheldon's shop and get their hands on blueprints... the ocean's the limit._

_It won't be hard to stop them, though. Any octarians reach Inkopolis? They'll regret it._

_That's for sure._

Pearl said they'd meet at _this_ park on _this_ day if Marina was serious about being in a band, and Marina isn't the best at telling time but she's sure Pearl was supposed to be here a while ago. Marina sighs and fiddles with her goggles, tugging them down over her eyes, then pushing them up again. She doesn't like them on her face anymore—it's too much a reminder of the past, too much of what she's left behind—but it feels wrong to go around without them.

Suggesting this was stupid. She must've failed a test the first time, when she had the chance to kill an inkling but didn't, and now trying to make a band with her? It's not real, she has nothing to lose, but if she thinks about it she'll be miserable.

So instead, Marina looks at her keyboard and starts to play, and after a little while she starts working on her own song. Ebb and Flow. This is just one more ebb. She's never sung in Octarian where the inklings could see her before, but they don't seem to care.

Of course they don't. None of this is real.

"That's fresh," says Pearl, plopping on the bench beside Marina and startling Marina so bad she almost drops the keyboard. "What language is that?"

Marina opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a strangled croak. She clears her throat and tries again. "We speak it at home," she says. Is this real? She brushes her longest tentacle from her eyes and feels, but no, it's impossible to tell you're wearing hypnoshades if you're in remembrance. "But the song is something I'm working on.”

Pearl grins. "Well, you can't work on something that fresh alone. C'mon. You wanna break into the biz, you need a demo, country girl."

"A demo?"

"A recording. Hang on." Pearl digs in her pockets and pulls out a bright pink phone. "I don't take this out much--doesn't match the image--but it's got a decent sound capture."

"Your image?"

"Uh, hello?" Pearl gestures to her ripped jeans (so tight they _can't_ be comfortable), her spiked bracelets, and her piercings. "Do I _look_ like someone associated with pink?"

"You have pink tentacles." Half the reason Marina went looking for Pearl again. If the hypnoshades wanted to make it obvious Marina should splat Pearl, Marina was going to make sure she _didn't_ get splatted.

Between that and all her time playing music, which couldn't _possibly_ contribute anything to society, sooner or later they'd remove her glasses just to punish her.

Pearl rolls her eyes. "Here." She taps something on her phone. "Play your song. I'll record it. Seriously, that is _fresh_."

With the phone in front of her, Marina's mouth goes dry. She clears her throat, wets her lips, sets up the drums, and sings.

Pearl applauds at the end. " _Seriously_ fresh. I don't know the words, but--you don't need to know the words in music, ya know? You just _feel_ it. I've been getting tired of punk, anyway, so--wanna try something?" She's bouncing in her seat, almost dancing in place. "Sing it again."

Marina blushes under Pearl's attention, lowering her head, and starts playing. She sings the first line, and then--

and then Pearl starts to _chant_ , her words going around and over and under Marina's, a near-perfect match to Marina's lyrics _and Pearl doesn't even speak Octarian_. Cod. How could such a short inkling have such a big voice? How could she get what was in Marina's soul so well?

Is this all part of the hypnoshades? Or could her music, her _song_ , be--

"Come on, don't leave me hanging." Pearl nudges her, her eyes sparkling. "Let's freestyle a bit."

Marina can't help but match Pearl's grin. She leans over her keyboard and starts playing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is from Octo Expansion information. Marina went to Mt. Nantai every day for a week to try to meet up with Pearl again, and asked her to be in a band; Pearl agreed because Ebb and Flo's demo was awesome, even composed on Marina's half-broken keyboard. Marina was also downright shocked (and impressed) when she heard Pearl rap for the first time; based on context, it would've been after the initial 'be in a band with me!' offer. 
> 
> In the Japanese version of Splatoon, Marina's dialogue is sometimes written with a different writing system—katakana, it's called, though I know nothing about Japanese to explain more than that—than normal dialogue, indicating an accent; in the Splatune 2 lyrics, her stuff is entirely in katakana and Pearl's isn't, indicating different languages when they sing (according to the Splatoon Wiki).


	13. Pride

_Everything you have is earned.  
_ _Every building you enter, every path you walk, everything you eat, drink, or use is because of the sacrifice and toil of Octarians before you.  
_ _You must repay them.  
_ _When you receive your assignments, you must devote yourself to them completely and utterly. You already owe society a debt.  
_ _And if anyone ever gives you anything, be on your guard._  
 _Nothing is free.  
_ _They want something._

Marina smiles for the polite applause and starts packing away her keyboard. It's _definitely_ colder now; she has both her splatfest shirts on and is still shivering. But she spent all her money, last week, on some new blankets and doesn't have any left over.

And with the way the wind is blowing, it's gonna be even worse than yesterday. Marina grimaces. It'll be worse by the time Makomart dumps their unsold food; maybe she should just skip the meal entirely, wrap up in the blankets, and huddle.

"Marina?!"

Marina flinches and almost drops her keyboard. Pearl stands an arm's length away, staring at her like a stranger. It makes Marina squirm. "H-hey Pearl."

"You're a _beggar?"_ Pearl asks, her tone somewhere between shock and horror, and it makes Marina straighten her shoulders.

"I don't beg," Marina says, because she knows _that_ word and she'd never stoop. "I play music. If I get something out of it, well, great." She knows, from what she's overheard and pieced together, that most inklings have jobs: places they go every day and do things for shells, enough to have a place to stay and things to eat and everything they want without worry. She doesn't know enough Inklish for most of that, can barely read it, certainly can't _write_ it, so that's off limits. But she isn't wandering around asking for people to _give_ her stuff.

The only place that happens is the stories she learned about Inklings in school, and now that she thinks about it, it's kinda strange the hypnoshades don't have most of them doing it.

"Rina," Pearl says, and it stops her cold, because Pearl's voice is soft and careful and no one's _ever_ called her that. Pearl pulls down the hoodie of her sweatshirt, tugs off her headphones, fiddles with the ends of her scarf, pulls on the fluff balls at the wrists of her gloves, but keeps her eyes on Marina. "Do you _have_ any other clothes?"

Marina swallows. There's something in Pearl's eyes that holds her still, even as inklings and jellies move around them.

"You really came here with nothin', huh?" Pearl asks, her voice still that strange quiet. "Cod. I can't even imagine."

Marina can't take it anymore, and she looks away. "Yeah... well, I, uh. Um."

"We're going shopping."

"We're _what?"_ Marina looks up again.

Pearl takes two steps forward, pulls off her scarf, throws it over Marina's shoulders, knots it. "Shopping, you goof. You need clothes. Then we can eat together and work on our music." She takes a step back and studies Marina. "My treat."

Marina's cheeks burn. She fiddles with the ends of the scarf, untying it. "Pearl, I don't need your--"

"We're bandmates, Rina," Pearl interrupts. She grabs Marina's hands, keeping Marina from taking off the scarf, and shoves her own headphones over Marina's ears. "We've gotta work together, and no one'll take us seriously with you wearing _that_. We were gonna meet up tomorrow anyway." Pearl pulls Marina to her feet, surprising her; Pearl's stronger than she looks. "We need to decide on an image. Gotta keep it fresh, right? I'm the one who gets to look punk, but not _too_ punk, 'cause our music's not that punk."

If this is an Inkling being selfish, it's coming in the strangest form Marina's ever seen. Her stomach clenches, but she picks up her box, using a spare tentacle to keep it steady, and lets Pearl lead her into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cooping myself up indoors for two weeks--the most I can afford--so I'm putting extra time into writing. Since I know many people are in the situation and need entertainment, I'll try to update twice a week as long as I can sustain it... and also to spite the person who I blocked on over a dozen accounts on FF.net, once on Discord, and twice on Twitter, who's now reviewing my stories here in order to swear at me and insult me. 
> 
> No one's forcing you to read this, dude. Go away. Find something else to do with your life. Because I up my daily WC goal for my time in isolation by 50 words every time you do, and that just means I put more out for other people to enjoy.


	14. Sacrifice

_Each Octarian has a role in life.  
_ _For some, that role is to create. For others, it is to destroy.  
_ _If your role changes, it's because you've changed. Embrace it.  
_ _But always remember: you've learned the Octoshot for a reason._  
_Each and every one of you is expected to know how to splat an inkling.  
_ _Just in case._

"I am  _not_ staying in your guest room until, um, the Waterfall Warblers get off the ground," Marina says, stirring her soda with a straw.

Pearl snorts and takes a big bite of her burger. She chews and says, her mouth full, "Okay, that's a stupid name for our band. But you can't live under a _bridge_ , Rina." Pearl pauses to swallow. "Even once we've released a single or two, it'll take a while for, um, Punk Murder Princesses to make some real money."

Marina laughs. "Worst one yet, Pearl. And sure I can. I'll be fine." She has enough blankets to stay warm, and two outfits. Neither one is fancy--she refused to let Pearl spend _that_ much money on her-- but she has a pair of pants and a pair of capris that are more comfortable, but not as warm. And two shirts she's still not sure about, with the extra fabric rubbing her arms and stomach in ways she'll be happy to get used to. "But I'm not getting a job. That'd take too much time away from, uh, the Tornado Sirens?"

Pearl laughs while drinking, claps her hands to her nose, and goes rooting for a napkin. "Okay, I think we can rule out a 'squid sisters' type name."

"But the Squid Sisters are the _best_."

"You're obsessed with them." Pearl flicks a fry at her, and Marina grabs it, puts it back on the plate so they won't waste food. "You won over a thousand shells by singing Calamari Inkantation _backwards_. I couldn't even pronounce it that way!"

Marina's cheeks heat; she takes a last sip of her drink to cover it, listening to the sucking as there's nothing left but ice cubes. She'd learned it before she knew what the words meant, so separating out the sounds that way wasn't a big deal.

"You don't need to get a job if you just live with--"

"Nope." Marina doesn't know _why_ Pearl is doing this--real Inkling actions? Hypnoshades wanting her at Pearl's place for some reason? (She can't call it a house. It's bigger than some of the domes.) But she was always following someone else's orders until her goggles broke, and she's not gonna live someplace where she'd need to do that now.

“If we wanna get somewhere, you need something better than that broken thing, and unless you've got a safe place it won't matter,” Pearl says. She shovels her last fries in her mouth, chews, swallows. “So you've gotta do _something_.”

Marina pulls down her goggles and looks away. She knows what this is: hypnoshades. Pearl is... may be the first friend Marina's had since she graduated school and joined the army, and Marina would do _anything_ for her. But she isn't real, and whoever's in charge of the remembrances is getting tired of Marina's refusal to contribute.

But she has to do  _something_ . So, still without looking at Pearl, she asks, “What do you suggest?”

“Let's see,” Pearl says, and Marina can hear her tapping on her squid phone. “Studio apartments are cheapest... and you'd also need some utilities, food... if you're decent at turf war you could make enough in about three hours every day. That'd leave you plenty of time for other things.”

Marina _can't_ have heard right. She shifts to look Pearl in the eye. “Turf war?”

“Yeah! Splat battling!” Pearl's grin covers her whole face. “What's your best weapon?”

“I'm not allowed,” she says. “I'm—I'm, uh.”

“You're not at home anymore, Rina,” says Pearl, and grabs Marina's hand. Pulls it away from Marina's shortest tentacle, the one that didn't grow right; Marina wasn't even aware she was fiddling with it. Pearl laces their fingers together and squeezes. “And you were right to leave. I don't think you've told me _half_ of it and they were _assholes_. Who makes a squid leave school at ten? And not letting you _sing_ , and not allowed into splat battles for a stupid reason.” Pearl takes a deep breath, reaches over, and traces along Marina's lucky tentacle, from the base up until the tip touches the headphones, in a way that makes her want to squirm away and wiggle closer all at once. “You'll do much better here. We've just gotta get you on your feet.”

Marina swallows again. Oh, cod. She's in _so much trouble_ they've gotten rid of her non-combatant status. “I—I don't—I've never—I, um, I,”

“It's settled then.” Pearl leaps to her feet and grabs Marina's hand, yanks her to her feet.

_Oh cod._ “W-wait! Pearl, I--”

“Don't worry about our trays,” Pearl says, and drops a dozen shells on them. “We'll just leave a thank-you tip. Come _on_.”

“I don't wanna splat anyone,” Marina says, quieter than she'd like. Pearl either doesn't hear or pretends not to, because she tows Marina along, into the splat lobby.

Marina's mouth goes dry. She looks around. There are elevators and stairs; signs detailing which waiting rooms are on which floors; notations for which are the current stages and what launchpads are active and vending machines for snacks. There's also a desk, with an elderly inkling sitting behind it, and that's where Pearl drags her. “My friends' parents never let her turf before,” says Pearl, thrusting Marina forward. “Can you get her a junior and put her through the track?”

“Pearl, I really don't--”

“It's fine to be nervous,” says the lady, chuckling."Everyone is their first time. Let me just get you some gear." She vanishes through a door, into the back.

Pearl squeezes her hand. "You'll be fine."

"I don't wanna get splatted," she says, and much as she tries to hide the fear in her voice, Pearl's eyes widen. "And I don't wanna splat anyone else."

Pearl chews her lip, then nods. "They have respawn points all over, Rina. Getting splatted'll sting a little, sure, but not as much as falling off a bike." Marina doesn't know what a 'bike' is, but that doesn't seem too bad. "But if you  _really_ don't wanna splat anyone, you can just ink the ground. That's why it's turf war: you control the area, not just splat people."

That makes Marina feel a little better. "But--"

"Look, you go through newbie's ally, I'll grab my dualies, and we'll play on the same splatoon until you're comfortable," Pearl says. "If you want, I'll even grab my old splattershot, since the dualies are new and I keep dodge-rolling off cliffs. I've got your back."

There doesn't seem to be a choice in the matter. Marina swallows down the lump in her throat and accepts the shooter (smaller than the octoshot, longer, just a hint lighter) and follows the inkling woman through the door. She's not an engineer, a non-combatant now; she's going to have to fight. She's going to basic training, now, again (even she had to pass those tests once) and by the time she gets out, she may not even  _remember_ music.

Except, when she takes the jump-pad to newbies ally and gets pointed at some  _balloons_ , of all things, she has to wonder: is this actually real?

Because she can't imagine any octoling making  _this_ sort of training, even for the hated inklings. But she also can't imagine  _any_ species thinking this is adequate.

Good cod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind comments! I can't say this enough, knowing people are reading this makes my day, and I love reading them and rereading them.
> 
> Currently this story stands at 24 chapters completed, I'm working on Ch. 27--the other incomplete chapters need titles and italicized openings and spell checks. I think we'll hit the Octo Expansion endgame in Ch. 28-??? (look, a LOT happens in the Octo Expansion, my outline's pretty darn rough but there's gotta be several individual moments needing exploration in *that* timeframe) so it'll probably be written out in the near future. Right now, updates are occurring as I get bored/want to, and since I've got a fair bit of buffer, I'm doing it as I wish; once I go back to work/have less buffer/whatnot, expect them to go down to once a week.


	15. Octivus

_Listen to_ _**this.**_

_U_ _gh, what is it? Another knock-off of one of our songs?_

_No, just—look,_ _**listen,** _ _you'll see, I'm gonna play it._

_I told you, I don't wanna listen to anything new until—oh worm._

_Yeah. It's in Octarian._

_Only half, though._

_It's a musical duo. The rapper, speaking Inklish? Pearl. She was on the punk scene._

_Houzuki, right? More money than talent, I thought._

_Can't sound like that without talent._

_True enough. But how the shell did she find an Octarian to sing with her?_

_Let's find out._

**_Carefully._ **

Marina stores her splattershot jr in the weapons' locker, changes out of turf gear, and heads out. This was a good evening: she only got splatted once, never splatted anyone, and won enough that she can take a few days' off and spend time pouring over the reviews of Ebb and Flow. Thinking about that makes her stomach clench, but in the best way.

Maybe this _is_ real. Even if she's still not sure what 'Off The Hook' means.

Marina shuffles through the snow, wincing as it gets in through the holes in her shoes, and pulls down her goggles to protect her face from the wind. There's no good place to wait for the next train. Her apartment-- _hers,_ all hers, even if the smell made Pearl wrinkle her nose and demand a spare key so she could douse the place with air freshener--is four stops away. Maybe she should get clothing, instead. Though Pearl told her to wait until the after-Squidmas sales to do any big shopping.

The train pulls up. Marina gets in line with the others; the ticket squid pokes his head out. "An anonymous well-wisher paid for everyone's passage today," he announces. "Merry Squidmas!"

Squidmas. Marina's hearts ache as she settles into her seat, adjusts her headphones so they don't press, and dozes. She's lost track of the days, but this must be the second or third day of Octivus. The first day for travel; the second day for cleaning; the third day for food. Thinking back on how long she's had the hypnogoggles, it may have been the only time she saw her family for real.

And she's messed up badly enough that they won't even let her do _that_ , now. First she lost her non-combatant status, now this.

Well, maybe she can celebrate it anyway. She can't sing any of the songs, especially not the ones praising Octavio, and doesn't have the right tools for the games. But every day has its own gift: she usually got socks for traveling, soap for cleaning, she can do that. She can certainly eat something delicious for a treat tomorrow. And she can use that extra money for a new weapon (not a sweater. Everyone _else_ got weapons on the eighth day). A roller would let her cover more ground, and she'd be able to stay out of the way better.

And she should get something for Pearl. Squidmas seems a bit different than Octivus, with all the colorful lights and pictures of that weird Father Squidmas, but still involves giving things to people you care about.

The train slows at her stop; Marina gets to her feet and winces, rolling her shoulders. Or maybe she should buy a mattress. Even if the floor is better than the ground under the bridge, it's still a long ways from comfortable.

The door slides open. Marina makes her way down the street, past trees festooned in colored lights, and climbs three flights of stairs. She stops outside her window. The light is on.

Did she do that? Has she become so careless she'd waste precious electricity that way? Marina frowns and makes her way to the door, puts in the key, and stops dead, her door open.

Has she come to the right place? But her key fit...

"Surprise!" Pearl jumps up from behind the couch Marina doesn't own and waves her arms. "Merry Squidmas!"

Marina opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. There's a desk, with a computer on it (Marina's wanted a computer since she learned the word) and a table with _chairs_ in that corner and all the furniture has a bow on it somewhere. Some _delicious_ smell is coming from the little nook with the stove in it. There are strings of colored lights climbing every corner, draping the walls and dangling from the ceiling, and Marina tries again, takes a breath in but what comes out is a squeak.

Pearl laughs, but it's not harsh. "Guess I succeeded at the surprise," Pearl says, and comes over from behind the couch. "Getting your key, keeping you from buying the stuff yet..." She wrinkles her nose. "It took _all morning_ to get the smell out of the carpet. I tried to ask my parents' to send a cleaner but they said it was _my_ present, I had to do it myself." She shuts the door behind Marina and pushes her to the couch. "I had to order take-out, though. I'm no cook. One sec!"

Marina needs the time to take off her goggles so she can wipe her eyes and breathe and she doesn't deserve this she doesn't she's an _octoling_ Pearl is an _inkling_ they're enemies and if Pearl ever knew--if she--this is real, it's real, it _has_ to be and Marina's been an idiot. She's an Octoling in Inkling land, and she'd better get on with it.

Pearl bounces back over, carrying not food, but a package wrapped in bright red and green, with enough bows to cover everything Marina owns slapped on. "I know you're supposed to wait til Squidmas, but I _need_ you to open this now."

Marina holds back her tears as she peels away the paper and finds a book inside. She doesn't know the words, but the picture on the front is of Mount Nantai. "Oh..."

"It's got all the trails in there!" Pearl bounces on her toes. "I know you've been trying to hike them all. Start making a list, we can do them all together when it gets warm again."

Marina ducks her head and opens the book. She can't read, but she can look at the pictures. "Thank you, Pearl," Marina whispers. "This is..." One picture catches her eye.

There. A tree trunk balanced over a small river, on a path surrounded by trees.

Marina raises her head, her eyes wide, to stare at the inkling girl--her friend, her musical partner, her guide and sanctuary and--and--and she's not real either.

None of this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I upload when I get bored.


	16. Splat

_Devote yourself to King Octavio, DJ Octavio, leader and ruler of all.  
_ _Love him, for he is as a father to every Octarian.  
_ _Obey him, for he, above all of us, knows what is best.  
_ _Hate the Inklings, for they are our sworn enemies, and King Octavio's in particular.  
_ _Splat Inklings at every opportunity._  
 _If you see an opportunity to hurt them, take it.  
_ _And in doing so, you shall make King Octavio proud._

Pearl scribbles her autograph in the little girl's book, then hands it to Marina. Marina turns to a clean page and writes, her grip on the pen steady as she curls her signature and hands the book back to the tiny squid. Pearl spent a month working on her signature with her, assuring Marina that everyone famous has to practice a signature, making her practice writing Pearl's name, too, so their partnership would be distinct. She tried to get Marina to put her last name in there, but Marina refused.

Even if this isn't real, some things she needs to keep to herself. Someone'll slip someday, and she'll get out for real. But right now, with the release of their second single and two jobs as opening bands behind them, things are looking up.

Even if she _is_ being described as the 'tall, exotic girl standing next to Pearl.' And people always go for Pearl's autograph first...

"So, which side are you planning on this splatfest?" Pearl asks, leaning back on the bench and glancing at the sky. "Fancy Party or Costume Party?"

"Fancy, definitely," Marina says. She's practically in a costume already; everyone mistakes her for an inkling, and several of them have made comments about her goggles being like a mask. She tells herself it's better this way every time her stomach squirms. "Everyone just looks so elegant and beautiful. I'd like to try wearing clothes like that, just once."

Pearl snorts. "You don't need the _clothes_ to look beautiful, Rina, and you'd get tired of it real fast if you had to deal with my parents. I'm costumes all the way. It's loads of fun when no one knows who you are. You can be _anyone_."

Marina grins at Pearl, then the first sentence catches up to her. "Wait, did you just call me--"

"Ah, shoot, is it two already?" Pearl groans and hops off the bench. "Go tear up some turf. I've got to deal with _obligations."_ She says 'obligations' like Octolings would say _inklings._ "I'll catch ya at rehearsal tomorrow. Don't get cooked, k?"

"Stay off the hook, Pearl," Marina replies, and waves as Pearl moves towards the lockers to drop her dualies. Splat battling is more fun with Pearl; no one even tries to splat her with the rapping hyperactive munchkin around. And the roller's fine, sure, but it's nothing like her old octoshot. If only she could have a shield of some sort...

Still, Marina needs the money, and Moray Towers is on rotation. She can just ink on her side and stay away from all the inklings.

Five wins, three losses, and one splat later, Marina is _more_ than ready to be done for the day. She stows her weapons in her locker, shrugs on her coat, and heads for the lobby.

An inkling falls in step beside her. "You're a bit cautious for a roller player, huh?" Marina swallows hard--she _hates_ being approached by inklings after matches--and glances over without thinking. An inkling girl grins at her. She's got on a pink shirt, sunglasses, and a warm pink hat with a star on it that looks so nice Marina kinda wants her own, pink or no. "You're strong, fast; you could've just mown us all over. Splat!"

Marina winces. She should've pretended her headphones kept her from hearing the inkling in the first place. "I don't want to actually _hurt_ anyone," she mutters. There, she said it. Now they'll see she needs harsher treatment to conform, and the hypnoshades will--

"No one wants to really hurt anyone, but splat battles don't really do anything," says the inkling. "It just kinda stings a little. I use roller myself, mostly." Her grin gets wider, and she tilts her head to one side. "It's just so much fun, waving that thing around!"

Marina recognizes this inkling's voice, she realizes. But she can't place the clothes, or... anything else, really. "Were you on the other team?"

"Yeah," she says. "My cousin and I were on opposite sides last splatfest, and I lost. We had a bet. I can only use a charger until the next one."

Marina can't help it: she splutters a laugh as they go out into the street. A chilly wind whips around them, but the morning's rain has stopped. "Really, now."

"Yeah. I had you in my sights a couple times but you never came close enough." The inkling skips a few steps. "It was nicely done, though. Want to get some food? My treat!"

Her treat. Pearl has told her she is stupidly overcautious and ridiculous, but Marina's whole life has been paid for with service, loyalty, and lies. _Nothing_ is free unless it's unwanted, unless it's Pearl. "What's the catch?"

Marina trips. The inkling grabs her arm and pulls; Marina swings over and lands in an alley, rolls like she's been taught, ends on her knees with a charger touching her hypnogoggles. "Just some curiosity," says the inkling holding the hero charger. "We'd love to know what an Octoling is doing in Inkopolis. Care to explain?"

Marina's mouth goes dry as she looks up at the second inkling, in a green t-shirt and hat, a white facemask covering her features. This is it. She's going to be splatted. She knew it was coming; she's been courting it for ages, dancing around it, going on her merry way without contributing.

"I," she stutters out. Tears prick her eyes, and she fights them back. She will _not_ have the domes' last memory of her involve sniveling and begging like a coward.

“You,” says the inkling. With a jerk of the charger, she yanks Marina's goggles, jerking her head back, snapping the cord, knocking her headphones off. “You what? Make it good, octoslob.”

Octoslob. They're right. "J-just make it quick," she gets out, squeezing her eyes shut.

She holds her breath. Nothing happens; she doesn't even hear anything. Then, "There will be no need to splat you," says the inkling behind her, "if you answer our questions."

A sound escapes Marina. She isn't sure if it's a laugh or a sob. "Like I believe that," she says, opening her eyes. One tear slips down her cheek, and she reaches a hand to wipe it, stops partway through, the charger still close enough to touch. "If an inkling showed up in the domes, and I didn't deal with it? I'd be splatted myself, no hope for respawn, and they'd make it _last_. But I--I can't go back." She tears her eyes from the weapon to look up at the inkling in green. The inkling's eyes are wide now, not narrowed with hate, but between the hat and the facemask, Marina can't tell anything else. "They'll just make it take longer. So just--get it over with." She tries to laugh. “I'm surprised I made it this long, really.”

"Cod," mutters the inkling behind her. Marina closes her eyes, bows her head, and braces herself. "Were _you_ expecting this, 2?"

"I think we need to try a different tact," says the inkling with the charger. Marina holds her breath. This is it. Any moment now...

The silence, the stillness, stretches on around her.

And when Marina finally opens her eyes, both inklings—and her goggles—are gone.

On her hands and knees, mud clinging to her tentacles, Marina cries for the first time since leaving the domes.


	17. Calamari

_Some say the defining difference between inklings and octolings is our number of limbs, but those are only the surface. In truth, what divides us are our values.  
_ _An octoling will do anything and everything for the good of their splatoon, their division, and all of Octarian society.  
_ _Whether it's in a fight, among strangers, or with their closest family, an inkling will only act for their own benefit._  
_THAT is the difference. That is what divides us.  
_ _And you must never be like them._

"That was fun, but it's almost time for our break, Cal." Marie's voice can be heard echoing across the plaza.

"Yeah! I can't wait to snack on some of those delicious chips!" Callie dances in a circle and poses. Marie giggles.

Pearl elbows her. "We're almost at the front. What do you want?"

"Are the crabcakes here good? I haven't tried--oh, they're doing Calamari Inkantation!" She bounces on her toes and leans out into the plaza. "Um..."

"You won the last match, I'm buying, get us a table. I'm gonna bring the food over and stack it high and stable."

"That one needs work, Pearlie."

Pearl sticks out her tongue and flaps a hand, and Marina, grinning, heads back out to the plaza. She can almost do the dance along with them, she's seen it so many times, but there's something magical about the two of them, their tentacles in splatfest colors, performing for all to see and Marina claps her hands and closes her eyes and pulls off her headphones so she can listen with every part of herself.

It's over far too soon, and when Marina opens her eyes, she's only half-surprised not to be seeing double. But she cheers with everyone else as the Squid Sisters leave their stages. Marina knows what comes next: they'll reappear in a few minutes, each holding a tray of food, and glide off in opposite directions to sit with people on their splatfest side.

"Yo!" Pearl almost drops their food as she saunters up. "You ready to eat or what?"

Marina ducks her head. “So I'm eating with the enemy, now?” she asks, half teasing, half letting the octolings behind the glasses know she knows.

“It's just a splatfest, Rina.” Pearl drops in the seat across from her at the small, square table and sets down both trays, full to bursting and taking up nearly all the room. Pearl's has a soda and shwaffles covered in whipped cream and sprinkles and a cake the size of the dessert plate it sits on; Marina has enough crabcakes for three people and her favorite smoothie and a bowl of ice cream the size of her head. Every spare inch of both trays is covered in fries and chips. “Nothing but an excuse for some fun!”

Marina stares at all the food. “We're going to make ourselves sick,” she says.

“Worth it.” Pearl pops a fry in her mouth. “Dig in.”

Marina knows there is absolutely no reason to eat ice cream, it has little to no nutritional value for all the fat and calories and things she's supposed to avoid, it would never be permitted in the domes even if they knew about it. Crabcakes are a bit better, protein and carbohydrates but still with a lot of fat that she'll burn off with the exercise of the splatfest, and the smoothie is best with all the fruits and vitamins and everything else in it. She should drink the smoothie and have one, maybe two crabcakes (not seventeen) and avoid the ice cream entirely, which is precisely why Marina goes for the ice cream first.

If she waits, the whipped cream may deflate, and that _can't_ be permitted.

Marina's eaten half the ice cream and abandoned it to apply herself to the crabcakes and chips when someone plops in the seat on Marina's right. Marina looks up and chokes on her crabcake, because _Callie is right there._ "Whew," says Callie, a large bowl of fries in her hands. "Looks like you two know how to party!"

Marina struggles to regain the ability to breathe as someone on Marina's left clears her throat. "Is this seat taken?" asks Marie-- _Marie, the other member of the squid sisters, oh worm._ "We don't see squids from different teams eating together that often, and we'd love to spend our break chatting with you."

They think she's a squid. Callie and Marie, _The Squid Sisters_ , think she's a squid. They think she's a squid, and they're eating with her, and she has too much food in her mouth to answer and _ahhhhhh_ it's the squid sisters! Marina chews frantically, swallows once, twice.

Pearl lets out a little squeak of excitement, coughs, and says, “C'mon, siddown! You can _totally_ eat with us! We're in a band too, ya know, and we're gonne be even _better_ than you soon, so you'd better!"

" _Pearl!"_ Marina cries.

"What?"

Marina reaches to pull down her goggles and hide her face before remembering they're gone. "You can't just--"

"Just did," says Pearl. "Face it, Rina, we're awesome."

Marina buries her face in her hands. But Marie takes the open seat, and her laughter sounds like grace. "Fellow musicians, even. This is going to be a good meal. Callie, stop stealing their chips."

Marina picks her head up, fast, a scowl on her face before she remembers she's in _Inkopolis_ and these are the _Squid Sisters_ and eating each others' food or even playing with it is permitted here. She clears her throat. "I, uh, it's, uh," she can't think of anything to say, anything worthwhile or useful.

"So, you might know already, but I'm Callie!" The dark-haired inkling takes another chip off Marina's tray.

"And I am Marie," says Marie, folding her napkin on her lap. Her plate, not tray, contains two slices of pizza. "You?"

"M-Marina," Marina stutters out.

"And I'm Pearl," Pearl says. She takes a huge bite of shwaffle and adds, her mouth full, "Marina's your biggest fan."

" _Pearl!"_ Marina can't believe Pearl's saying this. Not because it isn't true, not because she's ashamed, but because you don't just--you don't--it isn't _right_. She pulls her headphones back on, tries to use them to hide, but they're not as good as her goggles were.

"You can sing Calamari Inkantation _backwards_ ," Pearl says, and swallows. "You told me it changed your life."

"Because it _did_ ," Marina snaps.

And then Marie puts down her pizza and leans forward and puts her hand over Marina's. "It's always nice to hear we've made a difference in someone's life," Marie says.

"And that's seriously high praise!" Callie almost shouts it, waving her arms. She spears a piece of shwaffle from Pearl's tray. "How'd it do that?"

This has to be a test, this has to be the hypnoshades, they're trying to get her to say just what went wrong, see if they can figure out how to fix, her, make her useful again, because she designed the flooders and worked on the octobots and accomplished more by sixteen than most combat engineers have by twenty-five. Shell, most combat engineers don't even earn the title until eighteen or twenty. Is that why they're being so lenient with her now? Trying to write this all off as growing pains, what happens when you push a young octoling too far, too fast?

But it's the _Squid Sisters_ , and they're talking to her, and Marina's cheeks are warm and she pulls her hands to her chest, twisting them together. "It was--it was the first time I heard anything that--that--it was just so _happy_ , and _determined_ , and _hopeful_ and--and--it's how music should be, not just praising someone or about doing what you're told or--I ran away," she confesses, words she hasn't really spoken aloud, even to Pearl. "I don't know if I--no, I wouldn't have even thought of it without--but..." She covers her face with her hands again.

How do you tell your heroes how much they mean to you? Even if it isn't real...

"Well, you're here now, and that's what matters," says Callie. "And you're in a band! Have you put out any singles yet?"

"Two of 'em!" Pearl kicks Marina under the table, and Marina takes a deep breath, pulls her hands away from her face. "Ebb and Flow was our first, it came out in December, and Acid Hues came out in early April. We're working on another. I wanna call it Dusty Splatterhouse, but Marina keeps saying there's nothing dusty about turf war, and we keep going back and forth on the lyrics anyway."

Marie smiles. "I've heard Ebb and Flow a few times. The different languages are marvelous. However did you come up with that?"

"I spoke it at home," Marina admits, and then they have more questions, and more, and more, and Marina never comes out and says 'I'm an octoling, I'm your enemy, please don't splat me' because she's speaking with the _Squid Sisters_ and she needs to pretend this is real, just for a few minutes. And they ask Pearl just as much, talking over and around each other in ways that are so like how they act on stage (it's not an act it's _real_ they're really just that good of friends) that they've got half of Marina's life story by the time they've eaten all the crabcakes and have to go back on stage.

Marina feels a bit woozy, so she doesn't stand up when they do. And when they're back on stage, Pearl groans. "I can't believe I told them about the time I tried to snowboard down a waterfall," she mutters.

Marina laughs. "I can't believe _I_ told them about wearing seaweed in my hair. They just--they were actually interested!"

"You had a really strange squidhood, Rina." Pearl looks at her tray and groans. "I don't think I can finish my cake."

"It's going to go stale," Marina teases, and gestures to her bowl. "See, now that it's warmed up my ice cream's become a drink. There's always room for that."

"Cake's still better."

"Liar."


	18. Turf

_Having a space of your own is important.  
_ _The more you have to yourself, the more important you are.  
_ _Be it a bunk, a cubicle, or a full room, protect it.  
_ _It is yours, and yours alone, to grow in and nurture yourself._  
 _This is the one thing you must never share with another.  
_ _They will taint it._

"PEARLIE!" Marina drops her phone, vaults the turntables, and wraps Pearl in a hug. "We did it! Ebb and Flow's a turf war track!"

"Yooooo!" Pearl hugs Marina back before squirming out of her grip. "I told ya we'd make it! Lemme grab my phone, didja read the whole e-mail or just stop there?"

"I just stopped there," Marina says. "Y-you read the rest first."

Pearl scrolls through her phone. "Nuh-uh. Oh, here it is." She grabs Marina's sleeve and plops on the floor, dragging Marina to a seat beside her. "We'll read it together. Okay, 'Dear Pearl and Marina of Off the Hook, it is my pleasure to tell you your single, Ebb and Flow, has been selected for our newest turf war track. It will join the selection of new music to premiere after the Final Fest next week.'" Pearl stops and hands the phone to Marina.

Marina takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Per our argument--er, agreement with your agent, Miss M. Dusa, you are invee--invited to design... de-sine? Disig..."

"Designate," Pearl supplies, and repeats the word, tapping each syllable as she pronounces it, then brings up the dictionary. "No silent letters in this one."

"Can you take over?"

"Nope."

Marina sighs. "Per our agreement with your agent, Miss M. Dusa, you are invited to designate the inita--initial stage it will be played at." Pearl shouts out a booya, but Marina sighs again. "Initial?"

"We get to choose the first place they play it!" Pearl shouts again. "This is awesome!"

"We get to _choose?"_ If Marina weren't already sitting, she may have fallen over. "That's so much power..."

"We should go with Arowana!"

Marina laughs. "And be drowned out by their top-20 muzak? Pearl, no!" She thinks for a moment, twirling the headphone cord around one finger. “What about Piranha Pit?”

“You just want an excuse to play with the conveyor belts,” Pearl says, and Marina doesn't even try to deny it. "We should do Kelp Dome. Can you imagine the sound of it bouncing off the walls there?"

"No one ever hears it unless they're at the spawn point," says Marina. "We should do Blackbelly Skatepark!"

Pearl makes a face. "Rina... do you know how to ride a bike?"

Marina feels herself blush. "Could you teach me?"

"No. Because _I never learned_. And I _know_ neither of us are good with skateboards and crud."

"Especially not waterfall boards," Marina says.

Pearl grins back at her. "And if _that's_ our first stage, you'd better believe we'll need to show off some tricks. Let's see, what other stages will be up that day?" Pearl opens a new page on her phone and starts scrolling. Marina does the same.

They both see it at the same time. "Camp Triggerfish!"

"You were so nervous, you dropped your junior," says Pearl.

"And _you_ were too busy laughing at me to ink any of the stage for the first thirty seconds!"

"When you went over that wall? I can't _believe_ you didn't get splatted. But you just called back where the members of the other team were, and I superjumped and _booya!_ " Pearl puts down her phone. "It seems like so long ago."

"I _still_ don't like splatting people," Marina says, leaning against Pearl.

"Yeah, but you've come a long way since then," Pearl says. "Looking at you now, I don't think anyone would know you only came to Inkopolis a year ago."

A year.

Has it been a year? Marina closes her eyes, thinks back. It would have been August or September when she reached the surface... and it's July now.

She can't say how long she spent below ground, trying to find her way out, but Pearl is right. It probably has been a year since she heard Calamari Inkantation.

If that had never happened, she'd still be underground with her splatoon. She might be leading her own splatoon by now. She would never have seen through her goggles.

She wouldn't be wearing hypnoshades now.

But she also wouldn't have created her own music, or eaten Pizza, or spoken to the Squid Sisters, or even met Pearl.

A year since she was brainwashed, a year since she was respected, a year since she left her home turf to walk the paths unknown.

"Marina? Are you okay?"

Marina blinks, and that's when she feels the tears on her cheeks. "I'm fine," she lies. "It just... hit me, all of a sudden." She takes a deep breath and lets it out, wiping her eyes and brushing away her emotions. The loss of her hypnogoggles, a way to hide, hits her again. She ignores it. "So, Camp Triggerfish?"

"Camp Triggerfish," Pearl says. "They won't know what hit them. Come on, let's read the rest. I'll do the next sentence."


	19. Plans

_Maybe_ _ most _ _Octarians aren't safe, but she is._

 _You're willing to bet Inkopolis's safety on_ _ that? _ _Just some hunch?_

 _N_ _o. But we can keep an eye on her without compromising our covers.  
She's a musician, Gramps.  
Nothing unusual about us supporting up-and-coming musicians._

_And if she's in the spotlight and we're wrong?_   
_She breaks her cover, all Inkopolis will be against the Octarians._

_You have a point._

_So you agree it's safe?_

_All I agree is that we'd win a second great turf war._

"When you play your keytar, you can't dance as much. And no one can see you behind the turntables!"

"I don't _want_ to dance as much. Having everyone stare makes me nervous."

"They're going to stare _anyway_ , because you're on stage with Inkopolis's freshest tentacles."

"They are _not_ \--"

A light flashes in the wall over the door of their soundproofed practice space, cutting Marina off neatly as a buzzer. Pearl sighs, crosses the room, and slams her hand on the intercom button. "You rang?"

"You have visitors, Miss Houzuki."

Pearl rolls her eyes. Marina can tell without even looking at her. "Tell them my parents are on vacation and they should come back with any solicitations in a month."

"Where they would have at most two days to speak with your parents before they left again, time which your parents would desire to spend with _you_ , Miss Houzuki." Marina purses her lips to hold back her laughter; for someone so impeccably polite, Pearl's butler can scold better than half of Octarian command. "And these visitors are here to see _you_ , not your parents. I've taken the liberty of sending them up." There's a firm click as the butler hangs up on them.

Pearl growls and releases the button. "People _never_ come to see me," she grumbles.

"I hope Scale drew them a map," Marina says. She walks over to the far wall and puts up her keytar, checks that the turntable and guitars and drums are all secure and starts tidying the coffee table in front of the couch.

"My house isn't _that_ big."

"You have your own practice room, and it's big enough to have a living room suite. Couch, loveseat, pair of armchairs." Marina stacks their notebooks full of song lyrics and scribbles in a neat pile, then moves on to straightening the music stands. "And I got lost for over an hour during our sleepover yesterday."

"I warned you the guest wing is a maze. You could've just slept with me, you know."

Marina's whole face heats. She focuses harder on the cleaning. "That, um, Pearl, if you could _hear_ what everyone back home would say."

"You're _not_ at home now, Rina," says Pearl, just as the second light over the door flashes blue. "Least they didn't keep us waiting," Pearl grumbles.

Marina beats her to the door. "Good afternoon," she says, swinging it open. "How can we—C-Callie?!"

Callie and Marie of the squid sisters stand there. "Hi, Marina! Hi, Pearl! Gosh, you've got a nice place here." Callie sweeps past Marina and into the room before Marina can recover.

Marie smiles. "Do you mind if we come in?"

"Of—of course!" Marina steps aside and bows a little. "Please—come in!"

Marie smiles at her as she passes, making Marina feel giddy. She closes the door behind Marie.

"Yooooo!" Marina turns just in time to see Callie and Pearl high-five. "My girl Callie! What's up?"

Callie laughs. "Just swinging by to see what the best up-and-coming group in Inkopolis is up to." She collapses onto one of the couches and bounces a couple times. Marie takes a seat in the armchair Marina prefers, folding her hands in her lap. "I didn't see you at the Final Fest."

Marina twists her hands together. Callie was _looking_ for her? Callie _remembered_ her? Or—no, Callie remembered Pearl, it's gotta be. Pearl is difficult to forget. But Marie is looking at _her_.

"We weren't there." Pearl crosses her arms and drops into the other armchair. "You versus Marie? Making you two go up against each _other_ , not just some opinion... it stank. Rina refused to choose, and I agreed with her. We went hiking up Mount Nantai instead."

"That's practically in your backyard," Callie says. "C'mon over, Marina!"

Marina twists her hands together as she walks. "It-It's nice to see you two." She stops in front of Callie, still twisting her hands. "Thank you for c-coming over."

Callie makes a noise in the back of her throat, grabs Marina's arm, and pulls Marina onto the couch beside her. _Callie Cuttlefish is touching her by the zapfish Callie_ _ **is touching**_ ** _her_.** "You don't have to be nervous," says Callie. "We're all musicians. And I'm touched you couldn't choose." She lets go of Marina. "I didn't think hiking was your scene, Pearl."

"Callie and I haven't been since we were squidlings," says Marie. "It's difficult to find the time, certainly."

"It's Marina's turf." Pearl waves her arm at Marina, and they all turn their attention on her.

Marina doubts she can blush any harder than she is already, but she takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, adjusts her headphones two, three, four times. "My family hiked it, when I was little," she says. It was remembrances only, but she's in one now. "It's—one of the good memories. I'm trying to find the trail we were on."

She knows what trail they were on. She saw it in her book, the wonderful book Pearl gave her, but she's not ready to hike it yet. She's not ready to know, for sure and real and true, none of this is real.

As long as she doesn't go back to the old remembrances, as long as she doesn't climb that trail and see Pearl try to cross that log, she can keep pretending this is real.

"What are you looking for?" Marie props her chin in her hand. "It's been ages since Cal and I went hiking."

Marina's cheeks burn. "I'll know it when I see it."

"We've been taking pictures of every hike," Pearl adds. "I've got them lining the hall by my room, labelled and everything." She grins. "It's the best way to get Rina to take selfies."

"Pearl!"

"This I _have_ to see," Callie says. She throws an arm around Marina's shoulder _Callie is hugging her Callie is hugging her aaaaaahhh stay fresh stay fresh stay calm and stay fresh._ "Can you show us? Or do you have a rehearsal to finish first?"

Marina leans into Callie's hug. Callie is hugging her. This is real. Can she feel how hard Marina's hearts are pounding? "We, um, we were just about finished..."

"Callie, wait a minute, we came here to tell them something, remember?" Marie leans forward, steepling her fingers. "Let go of Marina before the poor o—girl faints from excitement."

"But we've _gotta_ work on that," protests Callie, hugging Marina tighter. Marina can't stop smiling, doesn't try to.

"Aw, let 'em hug. What'd you wanna talk to us about?" Pearl leans forward. "Got some juicy gossip?"

Marie shakes her head. "Hardly. No, with final fest over we're nearing the end of our contract with Inkopolis News."

Marina's mouth drops open and she sits up straight, though she doesn't shake off Callie's arms. "You're leaving?"

"Starting in a month, they'll give us an extra day off each week." Callie releases Marina and lays one of her hands flat on the coffee table. "I've got a movie audition lined up; Marie's received an invitation to host a radio show. By Squidmas, we'll only be half-time."

"That extra day will be another band." Marie lays her hand over Callie's. "They're looking for the news' next hosts. They were looking at Wet Floor, Chirpy Chips, High Tide Era, and Squid Squad. Each of them will cover once a month, then the most popular two will do one day a week each, until they choose the next host and we split the duties, then do once a week, and we'll be gone by late spring. They'll bring back splatfests that summer."

Pearl lets out a low whistle. "That's intense. I can't imagine the news without you two."

"Why do you need to tell us, though?" asks Marina.

The squid sisters share matching grins. Marie looks Marina directly in the eye. "Squid Squad's breaking up. They need a fourth group. They want us to recommend someone."

Marina just stares at Marie. Mouth open, brain empty, _this close_ to going octo in shock. This is it. _This_ is why they've been so lenient with her. Maybe this is all a hallucination, but maybe it's half true. Maybe she's still wearing the hypnoshades, but maybe she really is on the surface. Maybe she _is_ in Inkopolis. Maybe she _does_ have a band, and Pearl is _real_ , and they've just changed her role from combat engineer.

Because having her on Inkling news, controlling what the Inklings hear, and sabotaging their information, would help the Octarian's next conquest more than any octoweapon she could design.

Pearl screams and leaps across the table to tackle Marina into the couch. "We're doing it! Rina! We are TOTALLY doing this!"

"P-pearlie! Calm down! We—we still have--"

"I told you so," says Callie, just heard over Marina's sputtering. "Should I pry Pearl off?"

"Give them a minute."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Marina's article on Inkipedia, the Splatoon wiki, they became popular enough to take over hosting inkopolis news after the release of their fourth single, about 'nine months' after Splatoon 1 ended. According to my timeline here, Ebb and Flo released in early January; we don't know what order the next three were released in (I went with Acid Hues) but song 2 would've released sometime between then and the Party splatfest. Single 3, Muck Warfare, probably recently released (or is about to be released) at this point.
> 
> Final Fest, Splatoon 1, took place at the end of July. If this is early August, then 'nine months' from now would be May. Plenty of time to release a fourth single, Color Pulse, and get comfortable as Inkopolis News hosts before their first splatfest in July.


	20. Outfit

_I've got some information for you._

_Glad something's worked._

_I'm glad to see you squiddos taking this seriously._

_So, what'd you find?_

_I've been running tests on those goggles we took off M—the octoling defector. Hers are broken, so I can't give all the deets. Anyone who wears them hallucinates. Don't think they'd handle anything advanced, but if you're scrubbing floors and think you're playing games with little squiddos, well, they must get a lot less complaints that way._

_Okay. That's impressive._

_That's useless, you mean._

_Are you kidding? If I could be eating plates full of chips instead of broccoli? Sign me up!_

Marina tries, and fails, to pull up her zipper all the way. "Tell me again, who designed these outfits?"

"A senior at Inkblot Art Academy." Pearl tugs down the bottom of her dress; Marina carefully keeps her eyes on Pearl's face. "One who really loves zippers. And inappropriate clothing in general."

Marina snorts. "No kidding. I think it's broken."

"No, it's supposed to look that way." Pearl looks at Marina, at the zipper, looks away, and pulls on her dress again. "And it's more than you were wearing when I met you. But a dress? When I'm gonna be jumping and kicking and..." she trails off into wordless grumbles.

Marina crosses her arms over her chest. Pearl's right: her outfit—the one Inkopolis News chose for her now that she and Pearl are in the top two contenders for their new hosts, the one she'll be wearing for years if they make it—does cover more than her octoling armor. Barely. But she's used to fabric (soft, hopeful, reminding her where she is) in a lot more places now. These clothes practically scream what she already knows: even if she is in Inkopolis, she's still being controlled by the shades, doing what they want, wearing what they tell her to.

So she just says, "And they put us in _black_ and _white_. Could they _be_ any more... more..."

Pearl nods. "I know what you mean. They let us keep our headpieces, at least. I don't know what I'd do without the crown. And your headphones look good with that." She tugs at her skirt one more time. "Whatever happened to your old goggles?"

"Oh, they broke all the way," Marina lies.

There's a knock on the door to their dressing room; before either of them can reach it, the door opens, and a hermit crab scuttles in. "How's the fit, ladies?"

"It's fine, thanks, but... could we have some pants?" Pearl asks.

The crab tugs on an antenna thoughtfully. "Pants?"

"Leggings," Pearl substitutes.

Marina nods, seeing what Pearl's up to. It might even work for Pearl, but not Marina: the Octarian Army may as well have her back in armor. But maybe she can make a small change, too. "I mean, these outfits are gorgeous, but white and black don't lend well to splatfest color changes."

"And the first time I have to dance, I'll wind up flashing all of Inkopolis Plaza."

The crab chuckles. "We're moving locales to the square in a few months, but I do see your point. Take those off, and I'll see about the adjustments."

Pearl's got her dress off before the door's closed. Marina looks away, her cheeks burning, and keeps her back to Pearl as the two of them put their normal clothes back on. The two of them leave the studio and emerge in the cold November air. "Every now and then," Pearl says, "something about fame just _gets_ to me."

Marina shrugs and pulls up the hood of her pink-and-yellow sweatshirt. "Well, we have the rest of the day off," she says. "Rest of the week, except for fittings. And we'll start doing one broadcast a week after that, so let's take advantage. What do you wanna do?" Pearl looks far too twitchy to rehearse, like they'd planned.

"I'll give you a choice," Pearl says, "we either go turfing or check out _every_ open building in the square and buy something from each."

Pearl goes shopping the way many Octolings clean their weapons, and Marina doesn't feel like running around with her roller today. "The square."

"Cool." Pearl skips a few steps. "Sean's making his own business, didja hear? He wants to start selling food. So we can see if he's ready to open and get a snack when we're done." She grins at Marina.

"And if he's not open?"

"Then we'll _really_ be his first customers," Pearl says, and starts to rap.

The two of them take the train. Pearl accepts one person's offer of a seat, but Marina stands, and they both sign autographs for people who recognize them from the news. There's no train stop at the square--there's plans for a bus, if Marina remembers, but it isn't working yet--but it's only a short walk away.

One hour and two stores later, Marina discovers that Pearl managed to buy her boots at some point. "Pearl! We need to return these."

"Nuh-uh." Pearl grins up at Marina, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You tried them on with the day-glo top and the orange pants as part of that 'worst combination ever', remember? I saw your eyes. You _wanted_ them."

"But I don't _need_ them."

"Too bad. Oh, what's over here?" Pearl grabs the bag, hops over a drain, and races up a slope into an alley.

Marina chases after her. "Oh no you don't," she says, following Pearl into a shop. "We are going _back_ to return... to, um..." Marina trails off as she gets a good look at the place they've just entered.

The weapons on the walls are normal enough, the off-beat, almost out of tune music a bit strange, and the statue of some sort of hairy creature behind the counter is downright odd, but it's the pictures of salmonids and replicas of their weapons that does it. _This store is Octarian. It's got something to do with the Octarian-Salmonid alliance._ And she just walked right in... oh, she is _so_ \--

"Nice to see you squiddos." Marina starts so bad she turns into an octo. She stays on the floor just long enough to take a deep breath and pulls herself back together. Where did... "Are you two looking to join the grizzco crew?"

"This looks _awesome!"_ Pearl bounces on her toes in front of the desk, where the... statue is hooked up to a speaker, okay. "Sign us up!"

"Pearl," Marina says, "maybe this isn't a good idea--"

Unseen hands yank her into the next room. Marina stumbles forwards, tripping over her own feet, never seeming able to stand or hold still. When she looks up again, she's in another room, the only door closed behind her, a pile of clothes in her arms and staring straight at another creepy statue.

"This is bad," Marina whispers, speaking Octarian since she's alone.

"Thought so," says the statue, and Marina nearly goes octo again. "Gotta admit, I didn't expect to see one of your kind. But perhaps we can benefit each other. I'm Mr. Grizz, your new employer. Your name?"

Marina reaches for her goggles, for their safety, but finds only Pearl's headphones, the ones Pearl made her keep. She swallows once, twice, trying to control the tightness in her throat, her dry mouth, her racing hearts. “Ida,” slips out, the first time she's used her Octarian Army name since leaving. “Marina Ida. B-benefit?”

“Any octoling in Inkopolis must have either a grudge against Octo society or a price on their head,” says Mr. Grizz. “I deal in... salmonid control. _You_ know the type. Those menaces will overrun the entire country, Inkopolis included, unless they're properly discouraged.” It's nothing but a statue, but Marina gets the feeling Mr. Grizz is appraising her. “They're still far offshore, on isolated islands, and I plan to keep them there. Your species trades with them. I want to know ways around a scrapper's armor, and the best way to sabotage a flyfish's jets.”

Marina's mouth is dry. She's _heard_ of these things, she—she saw the diagrams, she didn't help with the trade but she certainly helped make some of the items. She twists her hands together. “ And if I do? ” She thinks, but doesn't say, _If I betray all of Octo kind, if I let our secrets fall into the hands of the enemy—can I do that if this is real? If this is a test, what will they do if I pass?_

“Then you're Marina, a regular employee and inkling.” Mr. Grizz's voice clings to her ink like oil. “One who will have some warning, and extra protection, should I learn of anyone with questions.”

“Give me a week and materials and I can reproduce the blueprints.” Marina twists her hands together, gripping so hard her fingers hurt. Maybe it is real. Maybe she just failed. But she's fine, either way.


	21. Performance

_Okay, so maybe that cursed octarian isn't a spy._

_Told you so._

_Did you find something?_

_Agent Three and I have been checking all the trails you two said the defector hasn't been on.  
We've found something worth checking out off the Umami Trail._

_You owe me an order of chips._

_Fine, you're right. She doesn't know who we are. Want us on the coms, gramps?_

_No, you two need to keep your cover. Three and I will be fine. Just check on Octavio every now and then. Just in case._

"Now that we've gotten the news finished, it's time to announce the splatfest results!" Callie says.

"Boy, this was a close one, wasn't it, Cal?"

"And I'd just like to thank all of you for asking us to put it to a splatfest, rather than let management decide," adds Callie.

"We weren't expecting to host another one," adds Marie. "It was so much fun!"

"Come on," mumbles Pearl. She and Marina are sitting on one bench in the back of the studio; on a bench beside them are the lead singers of Chirpy Chips. They might be in range of the cameras, might not; if they are, it's certainly not enough for anyone to see what they're sitting on. "Come _on_."

"Represented by me, Callie! The squids to be, the successful group you all love: Chirpy Chips!"

"And represented by Me, Marie, the up-and-coming mixed-genre duo, Off the Hook!"

Marina sneaks her hand along the bench until her fingers brush Pearl's.

"So! Here's how the teams worked out: the popular vote!"

Pearl takes her hand and squeezes it through the drumroll.

"Woah!" shouts Callie, staring at a screen _over their heads_.

"Gotta admit, I wasn't expecting that one," adds Marie.

Marina squeezes back, trying to hold both of them still.

"Well, that's not all that matters, right Marie?"

"Of course not, Cal. Bet you anything your team had less turf war wins than mine."

"Loser buys the winner crabcakes?"

This is stupid. Marina shouldn't be nervous. If those are _real_ Inklings, then there's no way they'd have voted for her and Pearl.

"All right! Let's see the battle results."

Pearl squeezes Marina's hand tighter. Marina returns her grip. The only way they'll _win_ , the only reason they'll be _hosts_ , is if this is all fake. If this is just a remembrance. Or if Octarian Leadership has decided they want Marina misleading the inklings.

"Woah!"

"I wasn't expecting _that_."

But Marina _really really_ wants this. And maybe GrizzCo is a sign that this is _real_.

"And now for the final results!"

Marina closes her eyes and braces herself. They lost, because of course they did. No sensible inkling would vote for, fight for, an Octo.

"Actually," Marie interrupts, "we've been told you have to wait for the results."

“ _ **WHAT?!”**_ Marina's surprised to hear the other group scream it along with herself and Pearl.

Callie laughs out loud. “That's exactly why. You'll know who the new host are on Monday, because they'll be here.”

Pearl releases Marina's hand and leaps to her feet (not that it makes much difference); Marina grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her back down, wraps an arm around her head and covers her mouth. “Not another _word_ ,” she hisses. “Not on air.”

Pearl squirms in Marina's arms, but Marina's got her well and truly pinned. Callie and Marie do their standard close, wishing everyone to stay fresh, then the cameras shut off. Marina uncovers Pearl's mouth. “The _fuck_ \--”

Marina covers it again. “Nope. Be civil.”

Pearl grumbles against Marina's hand, but doesn't struggle. The cameras may be off, but they can still be seen from the street; at least a dozen grinning inklings are peering through the walls of the studio, most of whom are pointing at the pair of them.

Marie smooths down the front of her dress. "All right, who first, Cal?"

"Meet in ten minutes?" Callie asks.

Marie nods and turns to Marina and Pearl. "You two, follow me."

Marina glances down at Pearl, who sighs and stops grumbling. When Marina releases her this time, Pearl presses her lips in a thin line and stomps off after Marie. Marina waves at the inklings watching (and laughing) and follows.

Marie leads them not to the dressing room they've been sharing with the other group, but to what must be her and Callie's personal room. Marina's mouth goes dry as she stares around, eyes wide. From the jackets hung by the door, to the sunglasses lying on one make-up table, to the closet full of elaborate costumes and the minifridge and... there are pictures of them, before and after every splatfest and mid-performance, of them eating with fans (her hearts leap to see someone snapped a picture of the time Callie and Marie sat with _them_ ), to--

Pearl touches her arm, and Marina starts. "Snap out of hero mode," Pearl mutters, shutting the door behind them. "Awesome musician and business squid time, not starstruck country squid time. Let her out when we go home."

Marina bites her lip and nods. They've talked about this. So she squares her shoulders and marches across the room, where Marie's filling an electric kettle, some couches and chairs arranged by a small table beside her. Pearl takes a seat on the couch, and Marina sits beside her.

Marina isn't sure how, but they manage polite small talk (well, Pearl manages; Marina's still trying not to fan out) until they each have a cup of tea and Callie's joined, them, carrying a plate of cookies. Marie takes a sip of tea, sets her teacup on the table, and says, "So, you must be wondering who won."

"No _shit,"_ Pearl says.

Marina places a hand on Pearl's leg, a silent promise to gag her again if she starts embarrassing them. "Inkopolis management must think the suspense will drive up ratings," she says. "But if we'll be here on Monday, or not, then surely we need to know?"

Callie kicks her feet up on the coffee table. "There's something in the final contracts, the ones you'll sign if you're the full hosts, that isn't in the temporary contracts. And we need to know you're okay with it _before_ we give anyone the results."

She has to go to the frontlines in the Inkling war, she has to promote a company that will gradually destroy Inkopolis, she needs to divert her pay to sending better food and equipment underground. Dozens upon dozens of scenarios race through Marina's mind, and her voice shakes as she asks, "What condition is it, then?"

Marie sets down her teacup, locks eyes with Pearl, and says, "From the time you sign the contracts until the hosts after you take over Inkopolis news completely, you must not enter any romantic relationships."

Relief pulses through Marina, so sharp she almost laughs. That's _it_ ? She can't date an _inkling_? By the zapfish, that was never going to happen anyway. But they think she's a squid, so she asks, "Isn't the lead singer of the other group married?"

"Their contract would have that they can't get divorced or in any sort of scandal," Callie says, eating her third cookie. "Romance gets _messy_ , and they want the news hosts to seem like their relationships are perfect."

Marina relaxes back against the couch and takes a cookie herself. "That won't be a problem. Right, Pearl?"

But Pearl, when Marina looks at her, has flushed pinker than Marina's _ever_ seen and is crumbling her cookie into tiny pieces. For once, she's silent.

Marina nudges her. "Pearl, really, you know what this job is. Doing the news live every two hours, five days a week, and recording us doing it so they can air it during off-hours and our days off. One splatfest a month; that'll take time to set up, not to mention the rehearsals for each one, and those performances. And we'll still be setting up concerts on our off-days and writing new music and all that 'branding' stuff M. Dusa's always going on about. How would we even have _time_ to romance someone?" She shakes her head and takes a sip of her tea.

"You'd have _plenty_ of time if it was with each other," says Marie.

Marina chokes. Tea comes out her nose. She almost drops her cup in her scramble for a napkin.

Marie smiles wickedly. "Oh, should I not have said that?"

"Mar and I are cousins, or we'd've had rumors, too," says Callie. Marina presses the napkins against her burning face and does not look at _anyone_.

"The fuck do you mean, too?"

"Don't tell me you haven't heard," says Marie.

Marina looks over at Pearl, just in time to see Pearl looking at her. Without saying a word, the two scoot as far apart as the couch will let them, blushing so hard their ink stains their cheeks. "We can agree to no romance," says Pearl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I start with timeline deviations. Sort of. The date isn't explicitly mapped, but based on everything else, it'd probably be Feb-April. An event in Octo Expansion—unlockable, very difficult—is said to have occurred two years ago, and involves Agent 3. Further, it's implied Octo Expansion starts immediately after said event (or close enough that it was a recent event). Finally, Marina and Pearl are in contact with the characters dealing with Octo Expansion the entire time... which takes less than a dozen text message conversations of time.
> 
> I call shenanigans.
> 
> Even if the reality has Marina/Pearl much less involved than they seem to be, or if ¾ of the text conversations are left out, I find it difficult to believe they were in contact with Octo Expansion information for two freaking years. But I can believe Agent 3/Captain Cuttlefish were gone for 2 years (roughly). It seems a lot more likely that Octo Expansion itself takes place over a month, two at the most, and either that 'two years ago' event is NOT recent or didn't happen two years ago. But that event's going to be offscreen anyway, unmentioned, so we don't need to worry about it beyond that.


	22. Nostalgia

_Family does not make for society.  
_ _Family groups make for small, controllable clusters of connections.  
_ _These are dangerous.  
_ _They allow you to be controlled.  
_ _Knowing your roots is important; interacting with them is the purpose of holidays._  
 _But if you need to rely on someone, rely on your splatoon.  
_ _They won't betray you._

"Callie Cuttlefish, formerly of the squid sisters, has been cast as the lead actress in Legally Squid. As always, we wish the best to Inkopolis News' previous hosts," Marina concludes.

"And that's all the time we've got," Pearl says.

The two of them stand up and get in position. "Join us again next time. And remember: Don't get cooked, stay off the hook!"

The cameras shut off. Marina collapses in her seat with a sigh. "Why is it so _hot_?"

"Cameras don't help with the air conditioning," says Pearl, flopping in another chair. She flaps the bottom of her dress a few times, trying to fan herself. "What's the biggest drink I could get before we do it again, do you think?"

"I'd rather have an ice cream cone,” Marina mutters. “No time for that. Director Chovy asked to speak with us after this one, remember?”

Pearl groans, flaps her dress one more time, and follows Marina out of the room. “This is a lot more time-consuming than I thought it'd be,” she grumbles.

“You could borrow some of my comics, if you'd like.” Marina glances at her sideways. “Sorry about... some of the things I said on air.”

Pearl waves a hand. “Trying to dispel rumors is serious business,” she says, and keeps walking, snagging Marina's hand and tugging Marina after her. “I think we'll both get better after we've gotten the hang of this.”

Makes sense to Marina. Hand in hand, the two walk to the director's office. Marina only lets go when Pearl kicks the door open. A blast of cold air rolls over them. "Yo! What's the sitch, Tony?"

Tony rubs his hands together. Instead of inviting them in, he joins them in the hallway, shutting the door behind him. "Now that we're fully settled into our new headquarters, it's time to explain your last duties as hosts of Inkopolis news."

"The unique splatfests clause?" Marina props her hands on her hips. "I thought we wouldn't start doing splatfests until summer."

"We've already started coming up with themes, so you can get the artists on the shirts," adds Pearl. "The first one'll be Cake and Ice Cream--"

"So all of Inkopolis can know ice cream is the _superior_ dessert." Marina glares at her partner.

Pearl grins back. "Shows what _you_ know."

Tony chuckles. "That's one debate that'll pass our advisory board, easily. But no. Now that we have our own building, we want to do something truly _special_ for splatfests. And as the hosts of Inkopolis news, we want your unique stamps on it." He starts to walk away. "Follow me."

"Ay! Aren't you going to--"

"Oh, just come on, Pearl." Marina starts walking. "He'll tell us when he tells us." If this is an attempt at getting her out of the way somewhere, so she can be splatted at last, it's a strange one. Pearl wasn't around for the alleyway or the bad turf war matches, or even the time she made a deal with Mr. Grizz.

Maybe Pearl is as big a troublemaker as she is, and they plan to take care of both of them at once.

The thought makes her tense. If she weren't already sweating from the heat, she'd start now. She's prepared for her own splattage, has been since she left, but Pearl's? Unacceptable. She won't allow it.

Pearl squeezes her hand. Marina didn't even realize she'd taken it. She drops it, fast, as they reach the elevator Mr. Chovy's holding for them. “Up or down?” she asks, stepping inside.

“Down,” says Mr. Chovy, and hits the bottom button.

Marina would have liked to ride down in silence, but Pearl nudges her and starts humming. It's the chorus—the only thing they can agree on—for the song they haven't finished yet, the one for their splatfests, and Marina hums her part. It's hard to be nervous when focusing on harmonizing, and by the time the elevator stops, Marina feels better.

The door opens into emptiness, and Marina's stomach lurches. Pearl races out first, eager, curious, and Mr. Chovy follows, but Marina stays where she is. One heart's in her throat, the others somewhere around her feet, and all she wants is to press the button to go back up.

The area before her is one huge room. So big, in fact, that the walls don't seem to be there; it just fades away into darkness. The dangling lights only illuminate the floor in a sort of endless twilight, leaving too many dark spots, gaps where there could be nothing at all. The emptiness causes Pearl's footsteps to echo like the tramping of boots on rock, and Marina isn't sure she's imagining the creak of structures, too old, too hard to maintain, about to fail and there's nothing anyone can do so it's best to pretend otherwise and ignore it and look away because even if it does happen no one will ever know the difference.

This place looks just like one of the domes.

"Rina?"

A hand on her arm. Marina looks down into Pearl's worried eyes.

"You okay?"

Marina swallows past a dry throat. "F-fine," she gets out.

Pearl nods once. "It's kinda spooky, isn't it?"

"It's supposed to be." Mr. Chovy walks towards the elevator. "Now that we have the space, we plan to make a number of customized areas for turf war, ones which will only be available during splatfests. There are over a dozen floors. As hosts, you will have the additional task of designing and testing these extra stages." He smiles. "Provided your designs meet our team's approval, of course."

It takes Marina's breath away. Designing. As in, _engineering_.

With Pearl's reassuring hand on her arm, Marina leaves the elevator. The creaking and groaning noises are all in her head. Or do the shades not shut them out?

Is she hallucinating all this, still trapped in the domes, and now that she's under control, they're putting her back to work designing defense systems and new octobots? She's been so--so _happy_ , these months, almost two years now. She's been playing music and writing music and singing, expressing herself in forbidden ways, playing games and laughing into the early morning. She's stopped trying to find the glasses, get them off, learn what's real. Their prized engineer is healed of whatever trauma came from that day, as much as she'll ever be, and can serve again.

Or is she in Inkopolis, giving news broadcasts full of trickery and lies? Did they actually let her get to the surface, used her hunger to guide her to Inkopolis, use Octolings placed as spies to ensure she'd learn the language and think it was her own doing? Did they leap on her friendship with Pearl--rich, naive, kind, temperamental, silly, giving, amazing Pearl--as a way to cement her into Inkling society to mislead everyone? Were her broken goggles taken to keep her from looking too strange, to cement the ruse, and now she'll be building Inkling death traps for parties she'd never have imagined before coming here?

Or...did she really escape, and they _know_ she's an Octoling. Marina can see it, the turf war as training for a real one, using her designs to better themselves on the battlefield.

Pearl tugs Marina's arm, looking up at her with eyes swimming in anxiety, and Marina banishes that thought as impossible, takes two steps forward into the room. Pearl's not that good of an actress. She's kind, and stubborn, and silly, and loud, and messy, and, and--

Marina's hearts stutter.

Because Pearl makes her think this might be _real_.

Even standing in a basement or what may be a dome, and thinking of ways to make the floor move.


	23. Differences

_No two people are alike, and that's a problem.  
_ _If we let petty preferences get in the way of efficiency, the world will crash down.  
_ _Your hypnogoggles assist in that.  
_ _Everything will be as you like it.  
_ _Without them, why, society would collapse._

Ice cream is better than cake.  
Mayo (ugh) is better than ketchup.  
Flight is more useful than invisibility.  
And yet, despite the three weeks of movie nights with Pearl, Marina still doesn't believe vampires are better than werewolves.

"I don't know _what_ you learned as a squidling, Pearl, but eating ink just makes you sick!"

"They're specially evolved to do it. And it's _fantasy_ , Rina. Give it a rest." Pearl kicks her feet up on the table between them. "You're talking like werewolves make _more_ sense. They transform between two creatures!"

Marina crosses her arms. "And what do you think _we_ do, when we go from o--from, uh, swimming to standing? Sure, they made it based on the moon, but that's because they want it involuntary to be _dramatic._ "

"Yeah, but they've got _bones_ , Rina." Pearl points at her with both hands. "It's all made up. And vampires who hunt you down are a lot cooler than slobbery doggies."

Marina sticks out her tongue and regrets it immediately: someone's taking a picture. She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "Tell me again, why are we friends?"

"Music." Pearl grins. "We go together like mayo on pancakes."

"Gross."

The door to the rest of the studio opens. Marina gets to her feet with a groan, but Pearl grabs the timer off the table and slams it back down. "We've still got fifteen minutes before prep, Mr. C!"

"We're running low on shirts, but should be fine since it's tomorrow, and the newest shifty station's set." Marina runs through the checklist without thinking. "All of our news segments for the next three days have been pre-recorded, and--"

"Something's come up," says Mr. Chovy. "Get out of there."

Marina glances at Pearl in surprise; Pearl's eyebrows are way up as she looks back at Marina. With a sharp nod, she leaps to her feet. "Let's ditch this mess," she says, waving at the inklings watching (several wave back, delighted). Marina waves, too, and follows Pearl out the door.

Their manager closes it behind them and says, right there in the hallway, "We have an emergency news update. Callie Cuttlefish has gone missing."

Marina almost turns octo on the spot. As it is, her legs give out, and she sags against the closed door, slides to the ground. "What?" she whispers.

"Since this weekend," says Mr. Chovy. His tentacles twist around themselves. "They kept it quiet; it wouldn't be the first time someone, catapulted into fame they weren't ready for, had to take a mental health break and escape for a week to the country, or a relative's place. But she's nowhere to be found, and Marie hasn't heard from her."

Pearl's face is the color of ash. "Cod," Pearl mutters. "Do they... do they have anything?"

"Nothing," says Mr. Chovy. "Marie quit her radio show so she could go looking. She's been talking to her parents every day, but she even gave her bodyguards the slip." He blows out a long breath. "No motive, no information, nothing. No reason for her to be splatted, but we need to prepare for the _other_ worst case scenario as soon as you girls do the news."

Marina stares at him. "One of the Squid Sisters is missing," she says through lips that feel detached. She pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them. "They're--they're the best at _everything_ , and one of them is missing. I know they--they went solo, but they're--it's--" she stops talking. If she keeps going, the words that come out will be in Octarian, if anything. She only speaks that when she sings, now.

And she doubts even that would make any sense.

"Because we don't know why she went missing," says Mr. Chovy. "Your agent called me; neither of you have bodyguards yet, your career's just getting started. If someone's targeting celebrities, singers, or anyone with connections to Inkopolis News, you need to take precautions."

Marina's breath escapes her in a whoosh.

"We're stepping up security for the splatfests, and in our studio. I expect you'll be fine, Pearl," says Mr. Chovy. He wrings his hands. "You live at home; your parents mansion must have enough security to handle anything. Marina, though..." His glance at her is full of an emotion Marina doesn't dare name. "You live in a rough part of town. Do you have any--"

"Rina will stay with me." Pearl puts her hand on Marina's shoulder.

"Pearlie..." The word escapes her in a whisper.

"There are plenty of guest rooms," Pearl says. "We'll stop by your place and get your stuff after work. They can't take the both of us." Her smile bears a promise of pain for anyone who tries.

Marina lets out a breath. She tries to think of something normal to say. "That won't help the rumors."

"No one's going to be worried about the two of you," says Mr. Chovy. "That brings me to the _other_ piece of breaking news. The Great Zapfish has gone missing again."

Pearl turns squid in shock. Marina, head on her knees, blindly reaches for Pearl and hangs on to one of Pearl's tentacles.

Zapfish missing? Octarians. And they must know the Squid Sisters sang Calamari Inkantation. They know why Marina escaped.

This is all her fault.

And she doesn't know how to fix it.


	24. Squidmas

_ Everything in life has a purpose.  
_ _ Your assessments determine where you will thrive in life.  
_ _ Your schooling ends when you have the knowledge needed to succeed.  
_ _ Your position is tailored to your skills and society's needs.  
_ __ Even gifts have their reason.  
_ Items without a purpose are trash.  
_ __ So are Octarians.

Marina slips away while Pearl is still hanging up her coat and scarf and fancy mittens. She climbs the stairs to her guest room and collapses onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows.

Octivus. She mentioned _Octivus_. On camera, on air. Sure, she covered, but that slip--if any of this is real, if she's in Inkopolis and wearing the glasses or if she really escaped, then anyone, everyone will know now. Sure, Pearl covered for her on air, but now that they're here... how long until she comes, demanding answers? How long until she realizes who, what, Marina really is?

Behind her closed eyes, she watches it play out. Pearl's slowly dawning realization. Her denial, morphing into shock when Marina can't find the words to deny it, when she puts all the pieces together. The disgust. And then she'll reach for her dualies...

Marina pushes herself up before her mind can see any more. She doesn't want to see it before she has to, before it's real. She should focus on music. She hasn't listened to anything in a couple days; between the news and coming up with the next splatfest and the twist of worry in her gut about the squid sisters, she hasn't had time.

But Splattack is too violent for her thoughts, and Now or Never makes her twitchy, and even Calamari Inkantation does nothing but remind her she doesn't belong here. And everything on the radio is Squidmas, _Squidmas,_ _ **Squidmas.**_

Marina presses hard on her headphones and clenches her eyes shut. Maybe listening isn't the answer. She has her keytar with her, and some turntables; she could practice.

But every song sounds wrong, and tiny, and terrible without Pearl's voice beside her, and soon enough, Marina gives up. She just plays scales, over and over, letting the repetition numb away her thoughts until her stomach growls and she realizes it's past dinner time.

Dinner at the Houzuki's is served precisely at six every evening and lasts a full hour, whether or not Pearl's parents are home to enforce it. Right now, unless her clock's stopped working, it's almost midnight. She has to be back at the studio in eight hours. And no one's come to see her.

Marina's gut clenches. Is... did Pearl figure it out already? Is she too horrified, too disgusted to even face her? Did--

Marina's door slams open and Pearl stumbles in, arms overflowing with multicolored streamers and wrapping paper and she drops several dangly ornaments twisted into eights. "Squidnet says Octivus was an Octarian holiday that's still celebrated by salmonids and about an eighth of the jellies and maybe one or two percent of inklings," she says, and sneezes; glitter flies off the top. "And it goes for eight days, and the first day is _tomorrow_ , why didn't you tell me?"

Marina _stares_.

Pearl drops the pile of stuff on the ground and sorts it out: garland, and decorations, all marked with 8's and dangling octopuses and--and--Pearl looks up at her, grinning. "It said every day had a theme, but I couldn't tell which was _what_ , but one was for traveling to be with family, so that's gotta be day one. And there's a gift for every day. So, it's a bit early, and I didn't wrap it, but, surprise!" Pearl holds up a pair of fuzzy socks, striped in shocking shades of pink and green with bells sewn into the toes. "Happy Octivus!... wait, why are you crying?"

Marina shakes her head, tears streaming from her eyes—unnoticed, unbidden, unstoppable. “But... you celebrate Squidmas,” she says. “And I thought...” she can't finish the sentence, can't tell Pearl what she's been thinking, all these hours.

Pearl takes a step forward, holds the socks out to her. “But _you_ celebrate Octivus. Or celebrated. So let's do both!”

Marina can't help herself: she bends down and grabs Pearl in a hug, pulling the inkling against her and burying her face in the spot where Pearl's shoulder meets her neck. When she tries to speak, it comes out in Octarian. “ I don't deserve this. ”

Pearl returns the hug after a moment, rubbing Marina's back. “It's... uh... are these happy tears? It's okay, Rina. You're fine. You're fresh, even.” Pearl gives a nervous laugh.

“I don't deserve _you_ ,” Marina whispers, still in Octarian. "I don't deserve _any_ of this. I'm your enemy, I helped steal zapfish, I, I," she hiccups. "I was just thinking you were going to _splat_ me, and--and is this real? Is this really real? It can't be real, it _can't_ , I know that, but then you go and treat me like this and I wish it were real. I wish _you_ were real." 

Pearl doesn't let go, keeps rubbing Marina's back, until Marina stops babbling in Octarian and just sobs. And then stays there, quiet for once in her life, until Marina pulls away, scrubbing at her eyes.

Pearl looks at her hands. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to--to upset you. To bring up bad memories, or--"

"No," Marina says, and grabs Pearl again, picking her up this time and hugging so hard Pearl squeaks. "This is--this was-- I didn't expect--" Inklish fails her again, and she shakes her head, her tentacles tickling against Pearl's, and searches for the words. "Thank you  _so much_ ."

Pearl hugs her back. "Anytime, and don't you forget it."

Marina just... stays there, the warmth of how lucky she is glowing in her chest, until she realizes she  _picked Pearl up_ and is  _still hugging her_ . She sets Pearl down at once and takes a step back, ink rushing to turn her cheeks teal. "Sorry."

Pearl waves a hand, her cheeks ink pink. "Rina, you can hug me anytime you want. And it's not too early for your gift anymore." She picks the socks off the floor, holds them out.

Marina stretches out her hand, but stops without taking them. "But I don't have any for you..."

"You can give the things on Squidmas," says Pearl. "Octivus is  _your_ holiday, so that's when I'll give you stuff. Now come on! Tell me all about it."

Marina smiles at last. It feels like a relief; it feels like home. It feels like freedom. "Okay," she says, and sits on the bed, Pearl beside her.

Neither of them gets any sleep.


	25. Family

_There will come a day when your past is no longer important.  
_ _Your remembrances will stop featuring your family.  
_ _Your remembrances will instead, feature the future.  
_ _This is good; this is natural.  
_ _This is how new Octarians are born._

Pearl is laughing, and it makes Marina's cheeks heat. She glances away. "You still didn't need to buy me one."

"It's your second week turfing with it, and you beat your best roller score by over a hundred points!" Pearl bounces on her toes. "I think we found your weapon."

Marina glances away. "It's only because it had a shield. I didn't have to worry about--"

"Yeah, sure." Pearl grabs Marina's wrist and tugs until Marina's looking at her. "Call it a late birthday present. Early birthday present? When _is_ your birthday, anyway? You still haven't told me. Or your last name. How old _are_ you?"

Marina bites her lip. She's been in Inkopolis for two, two and a half years now... "We always just said our age went up when the year changed," she says at last. “But I know I was one of the oldest of my year...”

“Seriously, Rina, your squidhood was wack.” Pearl crosses her arms. “Fine. Choose a month. Pick a day.”

“Uh.” Marina fiddles with her longest tentacle (it's getting longer; she's been growing it out, inspired by all the inklings around her). “You remember the snowman sandcastle splatfest?”

Pearl's grin could split her face. “You said you'd never built _either_ of them before, Rina! I had to do something. And there was still enough snow on the ground to--”

“But arranging a private train compartment so we could go to the beach somewhere warm?” Marina shakes her head, tentacles waving. “You didn't have to do _that_. What day was that?”

“The splatfest was March 19,” says Pearl. “Oh, is that going to be your birthday? That's close enough for this to really _be_ your birthday gift. Right after the Chicken and Egg splatfest.” She grins. “Maybe if your whole side's as good as you are with that brella, they'll stand a chance.”

“As if.” Marina glares down at her partner. “Your whole side's going down.”

Pearl matches her look for look, and Marina has to fight to keep down her smile. Finally, she looks away. "It's already nine. We should head out."

Pearl sighs. "Grocery shopping," she grumbles. "The only type I hate."

"Can I meet you there in twenty?" Marina taps her brella against her shoe. "I need to measure my weapons wall and buy some new supports to fit this."

Pearl rolls her eyes. "You know, they make walls just for that. They look a lot nicer than your jury-rigged mess."

"Yeah, but mine's sturdier. And we _did_ take separate vehicles." Marina can't keep back her smile. "Which we wouldn't have, if you'd just get on my bike with me."

"I can't even stay on a _regular_ bike, Rina, I'm not going on a motorcycle." Pearl crosses her arms and sighs. "Fine. Getting the stuff so you can teach me more cooking should only take a few minutes; how about we meet at the construction shop instead of Mako Mart?"

"Deal. Why did you _buy_ it for me if you were scared?" The two walk to their lockers, side by side, and Marina retrieves her helmet. "See you in twenty minutes?"

"I'll beat ya there."

Pearl zips up her coat, takes off her crown, and puts on a hat; Marina takes off her headphones, puts on her helmet, and flips down the visor to obscure her face ( _it's just a visor it's just the helmet nothing's tinted red it's fine)._ The stars twinkle overhead as the two of them emerge. Pearl's car is parked in its customary spot behind the studio, where they left the driver halfway through a hefty novel; Marina's bike is in a spot by the train station. No one recognizes them now, but their voices may be just as recognizable, so they only wave as they split up.

Marina unlocks her bike, packs her things in the back (there's a spare helmet for Pearl, in case she ever changes her mind) and takes off. She hums under her breath as she weaves through traffic. They haven't got more than the melody down yet--the nah, nah nah nah nah nah part that's seriously catchy--but they both agree it needs to be about something, something _nasty_.

She reaches her apartment building in record time, parks in the street and secures her bike, still humming. A few jellies and inklings nod at her, and she nods back, retrieves her brella, then very deliberately and obviously equips and activates the alarm and the electro-splattegizer. At least ten people of four species wander away.

Lowlifes.

Maybe Pearl and M. Dusa are right. Maybe she needs to get an apartment in a better neighborhood. _Not_ move in with Pearl, like she keeps suggesting, but she isn't living turf war to turf war anymore. She could get a place with an alarm system, and central air, and a fridge with a freezer that actually freezes. But it doesn't seem worth it, when everything she cares about is at the studio or Pearl's place.

Marina takes the stairs three at a time, unlocks her door, flicks on the light, and walks in. Her weapon wall is in her bedroom, with her bed and wardrobe and original, broken keyboard; as she turns her back on the kitchen nook, she sees movement from the corner of her eye.

Marina ducks, jumps forward, and rolls into her bedroom, reflexes honed by hours of salmon run and turf war. She bangs into her weapons rack, her splattershot junior and first ink tank wobbling. "Who's there?" she demands, brella in hand; she's got the ink tank off the rack and on her back, filling before she's finished the sentence. "I'm armed. Identify yourself and your--"

"Long time no see, tentacrop."

Marina's jaw drops; she lowers the tip of her brella. "Harbor?" Her voice wobbles on the word, on the Octarian. "Harbor? Is that you?"

"Of course," He steps into the doorway, and Marina's hearts drop. It's her brother, all right, sure and unmistakable. He's gotten taller since she left; almost as tall as her, now. His legs and arms have a lot more muscle. His octarian armor fits tight around his chest; an octoshot, the handle shiny with use, sits in a holster on his belt: unlike Marina, Harbor was destined for combat.

Hypnoshades obscure his eyes.

He's wearing hypnoshades, not goggles.  
If he's wearing hypnoshades, they've been approved for combat.  
No one wears hypno items in remembrance, because it destroys the illusion.

"Why are you here?" Marina's voice wobbles; she's unsteady on her feet, and puts a hand on the wall. "I thought..." she doesn't know how to finish the sentence. "It's been years. Why now?"

"I need a reason to visit my big sister?" Harbor chuckles. She stares at him, but can't see his eyes as he steps forward. Not behind the glasses. "I wanted to see you. I... I _needed_ to see you, tentacrop. Why'd you leave me?"

This. Marina isn't prepared for this. She opens her mouth and closes it, wordless and stunned.

Harbor takes a step out of the doorway, towards her. There's something in his spare hand, something small, but she can't pay attention to it as he speaks. "Running away from home to deal with _inklings_? What happened to turn you towards the enemy?"

"They're not the enemy." Marina's surprised at her own words, but they're real, they're _true_. "Most of them don't think Octarians still exist. If they did? If they knew? I think..." Pearl. "A good chunk of them would welcome us with open arms, and want to make our lives better."

Harbor snorts, taking another step forward, halfway across the room. "Is _that_ what they've convinced you of? How many lies have they got you believing?"

Marina isn't sure of it, never has been sure of it, but even if she was, she can't just tell Pearl how she's been lying. Though none of this is real. Though if it's not here...

"You've been lied to," says Harbor. "You lied to _yourself_. I can help, tentacrop." He takes one more step, almost in arm's reach, and Marina sees what's in his hand.

She has her brella up and aimed before she can think. "I am _not_ putting those on."

Harbor freezes. Then, deliberately, he raises his hand and opens it. A pair of hypnoshades, LED's in the lenses glowing, circles moving in and out. "What, this? It's been so long since I've seen you, I just had to bring a present."

"Not one I want." Marina's voice shakes, but her hands are steady on her brella. It's her _brother_. "Get away from me. I--" her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I missed you too, Harbor, but I'm not putting those on. I'm not going back."

Harbor stares at her, his face unreadable behind the glasses. "But you could be happy again. With all your needs taken care of, without a care as you build--"

"I'm happy _here_ ," and it's real here, it is, it has to be, because if it's not they've gone further to convince her of it than anyone in command ever would under DJ Octavio. "Harbor... you have no idea what it's like, to be the only person controlling you. To have a choice. I... I love you. You're my brother. But I can't go back." She swallows back a lump in her throat. "Take off your glasses. Stay. You'll see."

He probably can't even hear her. Cod knows what sort of remembrance he's seeing right now. "You believe them, don't you? You actually believe it." Harbor shakes his head. "Well, Tentacrop,"

He lunges for her. Grabs the brella. She shoots. It hits right in his face, and he stumbles back. Her second shot splats him. His soul rises up, searching for respawn; the glasses fall to her feet.

Her brother. She's never splatted anyone, not once, not even in Turf War and she just--

"He failed. Move in!"

Marina opens her weapon and holds it, firing the brella off in a line just as more octolings appear in the doorway. All wearing hypno shades. Each carrying something. She damages one, maybe two of them before the brella breaks and they're on her.

Marina shoots and dodges and rolls. Ink, dark pink and teal, splatters. She knocks her weapon wall over onto one of them and uses her bed as cover; she's outnumbered but her brella's back blocking the shots and there's an octoshot an octoblaster and an octobrush. Her brother makes a full splatoon. All close-range weapons, good for something like this, and she's still outnumbered.

"Ida, you can accept it or you can be taken swimming and screaming," says the blaster; Marina fires at her and ducks, keeping her away. "But you're coming back with us. We need your improvements to the great octoweapons."

"Make them yourself," Marina snaps. She has to get out of here, but more important, they're surrounding her. She fires another shot and holds it, letting her brella go free and drive back the brush and the blaster, inks a path to the door and swims as glass shatters behind her and someone curses, but she's slow. She's slow, she'll always _be_ slow, and her stupid tentacle that never grew right is--

Marina jumps from the ink and misses a volley of shots, lands on her kitchen table and one leg of it breaks, throwing her to the ground. Knocking the wind from her.

Ink stings. She sweeps out her legs, dropping the shooter, turns the table sideways to block the tiny kitchen, already a mess of dropped frying pans and spoiling food: they were waiting here a while. But the table's not gonna hold them long.

Pounding from her door. "Rina! Your window was broken. Did someone steal your stuff? Is everything okay?"

Pearl.

_No._

"Everything's fine, Pearlie." It takes every bit of control Marina has to keep her voice from shaking. The side of the table, facing her, is turning pink; it won't hold much longer. "I'll--I'll meet you downstairs."

"Give it up, Ida."

"Is that _blaster fire?_ "

Marina fires over the table, shooting off her brella again. "Pearl--"

"There's ink coming from under the door!"

"Pearl, _JUST GO!"_ She's--they're not going to splat her. They want her alive. It's not going to be long now. She doesn't have anywhere to go.

She'd throw a bomb, but this is the splat brella. A sprinkler won't help her. Her roller, or shell, the splattershot junior would be more useful right now, but she wouldn't have made it even this far with them.

The table starts to wobble, breaking, dissolving under the weight of the ink on it. Marina raises her brella, waits. She'll have one chance to send it off. One chance to maybe, just maybe, break free.

Her apartment door _**BANGS**_ as it hits the wall. " _What the fuck are you fucking fuckers doing?!"_ Pearl's voice comes with the rapid-fire sound of dualies shooting, and the splooshing explosion of someone being splatted.

Marina releases her brella, the canopy obliterating the table and barrelling right into the blaster, knocking him down. Marina runs forward, terrified--but Pearl is there, still shooting, keeping the brush at a safe distance, her tentacles as teal as Marina's. "Pearl!"

"Rina!" Pearl dodge-rolls around the brush and gets two shots in from behind, sending them leaping behind the door as cover. "Are you--"

"I'm fine." The brush user pokes her head out, and Marina shoots at it; Pearl fires at the blaster behind her. Marina takes her chance, swims through ink towards Pearl, her brella recovered.

Pearl swears. "I called the police when I saw your window; they should be here--"

" _No."_ Marina can't imagine much worse than bringing more inklings into this. "In this part of town? It's splat or be splatted." This has been noisy, and messy; sooner or later, someone will--

Oh who is she kidding. Her neighbors wouldn't help if Callie Cuttlefish appeared and promised them all autographs.

"Then that's what we'll do," Pearl says. " _Down."_

Marina turns octo. Pearl dodgerolls; a blaster shot goes past them. Now Pearl's dealing with the blaster, and Rina has the brush coming straight for her, a glasses case visible, strapped on her belt.

Rina fires, and fires again, catching the brushes' ink on her brella and splatting her in three shots. She spins, panting, but Pearl's there, a splotch of dark pink ink where the blaster was, and Pearl is stalking towards the bedroom, her dualies at the ready. She pauses at the doorway, looks in, then disappears, and Marina can hear the closet door creak open, the rustle of checking under the bed.

Marina's hearts pound, and she feels sick, and she turns away to watch the door because she _knows_ the bedroom's empty save for the splatter of ink that was Harbor. The door itself stays open, pressed against the wall; a key sticks from the keyhole. The one Marina gave Pearl over two years ago.

Pearl's lost or destroyed her own keys a dozen times in as many months, but she still has the key Marina gave her back then.

"They're gone," says Pearl, behind her, and Marina jumps. Spins to face Pearl. Pearl is pale, her tentacles matching Marina's still. "We need to go to the police."

"No," Marina whispers. Her throat hurts; was she shouting? "We can't tell the police."

"Rina, they were _thieves_ ," Pearl says. She puts one arm around Marina's waist, pulls her close, duallies still in her hands; Marina releases the brella with one hand to put her arm around Pearl's shoulder. "Or worse, they were going to do to you whatever--whatever happened to Callie." She lets out a long breath. "They were--"

"It wasn't either of those." Marina's voice shakes; she goes back to whispering. "They were here because I ran away. Pearl--" even whispering, her voice catches. "I--I splatted--"

"Shhhhh." Pearl squeezes Marina. "We'll talk in the car. Come on."

Pearl leads, and Marina follows. Both of them teal, ink-splattered and exhausted, healing with every step but nothing will make Marina feel better. _Harbor._ She knows how it works, she knows what happens to Octolings who go on important missions and fail, and it must be important, to come all the way to Inkopolis. If that was Harbor, then... even if he respawns... he won't a second time, not after what they'll do to him.

So this can't be real, it _can't._ It's... they know she's wondering, they know she's still questioning, so they're putting out situations, the more extreme the better, to convince her it's real. They must. Because if not... if not, then Harbor... this can't be real. It can't. It _can't._

She blinks and she's inside the car, the soundproof glass up between them and the driver, and Pearl's pressing a cup of something hot into her hands. "Drink slow," Pearl says.

Marina sips. Coffee, bitter and sweet and creamy all at once, warms her inside and out. There's nothing like this in the domes.

The engine starts. The car moves with a gentle hum, pulling them through the streets. Marina's breath catches. "My bike--"

"I'll send someone to pick it up," Pearl says. "Keep drinking." She puts one hand on Marina's leg, looks into Marina's eyes. "We'll talk about it when we get home. No police until after. But Rina I--" her voice cracks. "I was _so scared_ \--"

"You should have stayed out of it." Marina scarce recognizes the harshness of her voice.

Pearl shakes her head. "I was scared something _happened_ to you. Rina, I... I _couldn't_."

Pearl may have saved her life, but Pearl put herself in danger to do it, and Marina wants to slap her for that.

But just as much, she wants to take Pearl's face in her hands and kiss Pearl senseless, and she grips the mug tight in both hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Octo Expansion, Marina was 16 when she went missing from the Octarian Army, and 18 when she and Pearl took over Inkopolis News '9 months after Splatoon 1' ended. I can't find an actual birth date for her, or any indication of what time of year octopi lay eggs/hatch, but with my current timeline that would mean she turned 17, and then 18, sometime between the first splatfest she attended (art VS science, fyi. Sept, 19/20) and April (9 months after Final Fest in July). She could therefore be eighteen OR nineteen during these past two chapters.
> 
> Given what we know of Octarian society, I went from there. Having everyone age a year simultaneously isn't a new idea, though it does make Rina's 9-year-old graduation look a bit... possibly sketchy (she could've still been 8, which is even more ridiculous. And yet fitting.)
> 
> Of course, none of you care about that, given the rest of the chapter, I'm sure.


	26. Inkantation

_There is no magic formula for success.  
_ _There are no shortcuts; there will be no mercy.  
_ _The only way we reach the surface is through force.  
_ _Doing the best you can do is expected._  
_Doing less is punishable.  
_ _Praise has no purpose._

“That thing you did, with the tenta brella and the steel head?” Pearl hops from foot to foot. “Super fresh!”

Marina laughs and tugs her lifesaver over her head. “Didn't wind up helping us any. We still had a crew wipe.”

“So? It was the third wave.” One of their coworkers leans against the side of the ship, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankle. “I keep doing this well, get coworkers like you two every time, I'll be profreshional in no time.”

Pearl laughs. “Yeah! You did great, too! And you--” Pearl turns to their last teammate, a younger inkling, just old enough to start at Grizzco, who hasn't said much the whole time, “you're amazing with blasters, has anyone told you that yet?”

The girl shakes her head so hard her tentacles flap. “You really think so? You do? You--”

“Yeah, I do. We're amazing.” Pearl steps out of her own lifesaver and kicks it to the side. “Have you tried ranked yet?”

The girl blushes and pulls her shirt up over her mouth. “I, uh, Mr. Grizz didn't check my age before hiring me. I'm not old enough for ranked for another two months.”

Marina bites back a grin as Pearl reaches under her uniform and pulls out a business card. “When you are, hit me up, and I'll buy you a couple weapons for it. I know they're expensive, and with some nice gear, I bet you'd hit A+ or S rank in a year. You can pay me back then.”

Marina turns her back as the girl splutters on a combination of thanks and attempted refusals. That's Pearl all over—seeing a chance to give someone something, taking it with both hands, and it makes Marina want to wrap Pearl in her arms and—and--and not with an Inkling. The Marina of two years ago would never, could never have imagined _anyone_ like this, much less an Inkling, and she still can't believe she's lucky enough to know—well. A year ago she couldn't imagine herself turning to the inkling boy and asking, “Your goal's profreshional? Is this a career goal?”

For the first time all day, the boy's smile reaches his eyes. “I, uh, I'm an artist. But I can't make money that way yet. Would... would, uh, would you like to see? It's not very good.” The boy digs in one massive Grizzco overalls pocket and pulls out a small sketchbook.

“I'd love to.”

The boy opens to the first page. Marina leans on the wall next to him and peers over his head. Drawings—detailed, and incredibly good—drawings of chum and flyfish and steelheads cover page after page, including details she'd never noticed before. “You've got a good eye. You should ask Mr. Grizz if you can illustrate the training manual in exchange for a small raise and publicity; that'd get you noticed faster.”

“I'm not good enough for that.”

“Are so.”

“Let me see,” Pearl says, coming on his other side and standing on her toes.

The boy bends to show Pearl the sketchbook as the ship's loudspeaker comes on. “All right, crew, we're coming in to dock. Get changed and leave your uniforms for the cleaners. Pick up your bonuses at the usual place. Worker Marina, if you'd take a moment to see if those fools at supply actually sent me the RIGHT SIZE of coveralls this time, you can come to Meeting Room C for an extra hundred shells.”

That's... a tiny bit unusual. Marina gets to her feet, but Pearl grabs for her hand. “Do _not_ go alone.”

Marina rolls her eyes. “Pearl, I won't leave the building. There's a few dozen grizzco employees on this ship alone, and probably a few dozen more about to start their shift. There are weapons in every room. I'll be fine.”

Pearl bites her lip. “But--”

“ _And_ our bodyguards were waiting in the lobby,” Marina adds, even though she saw them on another grizzco crew three cabins down. “The odds of someone coming to rough us up are almost nonexistent. You look at the superfresh art; I'll see you in the lobby.”

Pearl nods at last, but they all walk off the boat together before splitting up. Pearl plops herself down at a breakroom table with the rest of their crew to keep talking, but Marina makes her way down two flights of stairs (underground, it makes her sweat but there are lights everywhere and none of it is red) to Meeting Room C.

The room is empty, of course, but another bear statue (on its hind legs, arms upraised, rearing, snarling at the sky) stands at the head of the meeting room table. This is a small one, designed for only eight people or so; Marina glances at the table, but there are no uniforms on it, no nothing. “You wished to see me, sir?”

“Marina Ida,” Mr. Grizz says.

Marina tenses, twisting her hands together. He hasn't called her _that_ since she gave him the scrapper blueprints. “That's me,” she says, her stomach in knots.

One of the bear's arms comes down, until it's extended forwards, as though to shake hands; with a grinding mechanical noise, a thick envelope spits from inside its arm into its hand. “Look through these, and give me your opinion.”

Marina swallows hard and moves around the side of the table until she's close enough, then sits. She cracks the seal and pulls out, not a letter or papers as she expected, but a pile of photographs.

The first is of a boy of about sixteen, eighteen years old in the perennial uniform of new turfers: t-shirt, headband, shorts. He's caught just turning towards, or away, the camera; ¾ profile, face just barely visible, heading either towards or away from one of the superjump pads. His tentacles are pressed tight against his head, leaving what look almost like ripples on the back with one, just one, arching over the top of his head to dangle between his eyes, the suction cups visible. His ears, wide and round, don't stick out anywhere near as far as most people's.

This is a picture of an octoling, like her, on the surface.

And Marina's stomach twists and she stares at the picture, gripping it in both hands with a hunger she didn't realize. “Who is this?”

“While I claim to know no identities, agents Two and Four have been busy for the past few months,” says the voice behind the bear, and Marina's eyes widen. She wants to look at him, but all her tentacles are tensed, gripping the chair arms and the table and anything they can reach, and she can't make them relax as she flips to the next picture: a girl in a skirt and t-shirt, two tentacles framing her face while the other two are pulled in a ponytail high on her head, shells clutched in hand, looking lost as she stares at the menu for Crusty Sean's. “DJ Octavio, your king, has been recaptured. I've been told he's spent the past week being subjected to your newest single, Nasty Majesty, on repeat as part of his punishment.”

Marina grins. Pearl loved the title, came out with some spitfire lyrics, but still has no idea Marina was singing about a _specific_ ruler in her lyrics, rather than Pearl's descriptions of terrible things people do with power, and she turns to the third picture, another octoling who—wait. Nasty Majesty? “That hasn't been out a full week yet.”

“It has not,” he confirms. “In possibly unrelated news, literal news, I believe tomorrow you'll get to announce that the Great Zapfish has returned. As well as one Callie Cuttlefish.”

Marina stands up so fast her tentacles snap when they release the table. “Callie's been found?” She twists her hands together, relief and wonder and—and suspicion, because “ _Possibly_ unrelated?”

“My sources tell me the song Calamari Inkantation was performed during the confrontation against DJ Octavio.” The voice coming from the bear is calm, cool, collected. “Live.”

Marina wants nothing more than to turn Octo and dive down a drain, anything to get away, but this is _knowledge_. It can't be run away from.

If none of this is real, _why_ would they be telling her this? _Why_ would—no. No, no, this can't be real, it can't it can't it _can't_ , she's been on the surface for almost three years now and none of it's been real this whole time, none of it, because if it has—because if these years have been real—because if this actually _happened,_ if she really did escape and reach the surface and fall into a life beyond her dreams because she didn't even _have_ dreams before—it can't, it can't be real, not after all this time of knowing it's fake.

“I promised you a warning, if you assisted me and I learned anything of below,” says the bear. “Consider yourself warned. _Something_ is happening.” The speaker crackles. “Dismissed.”


	27. Trust

_Relationships are built on expectations of failure.  
_ _Family is made up of blood connections. These make no guarantee for compatibility.  
_ _Friendships come from shared interests. But interests wax and wane.  
_ _The only thing reliable in your life is the government._  
 _Devote yourself to DJ Octavio.  
_ _It's the only security we have._

“So, it'll take me another day, but once I soundproof the spare room, we can use that for a recording studio, too,” Marina says, waving her arm at the bare white walls. “So that's a bedroom for me, a _really_ nice kitchen so I can cook all sorts of stuff, living room's set, I'll take care of the recording session, and if _you_ insist on buying me stuff this time, you can outfit the third room so you can spend the night _here_ for a change.” Marina really, _really_ wants Pearl to spend the night sometime.

Just so she can repay the favor, she tells herself.

Pearl glances around and sighs. “Fine, you win. I still say you could just stay with me.”

Marina rolls her eyes. “We've talked about this. We've gotta at least _try_ to keep the rumors away, and it's not like either of us can go on a date to dispel things.” Not that there's a lot of Octolings for Marina to date; she saw one, in the crowd at the splatfest last week, and swears one was going into Grizzco as Marina left her last shift, but still. And dating an Inkling, without coming clean about who she is, is unimaginable.

“It looks a _lot_ safer than your last place,” Pearl says. “Working elevator, two security guards for every floor... will you teach me your passcode to punch in to get in the front door?”

“It's only supposed to be for people who live here,” Marina replies automatically. “6286.” Pearl's already typing it into her phone. “Your parents, your butler, your driver don't get to know that, got it? I've got the alert system to let my bodyguards know when I'll leave the building, and they'll wait outside.”

“Fine.” Pearl rolls her eyes and shoves her phone back in her pocket. “You're gonna shoo me out so you can get to bed early now, aren't you?”

“We start the tiebreaker tomorrow,” says Marina. “Donnie is going to _splat_ Raphael.”

“In your dreams.” Pearl stretches. “Still, a good night's sleep—and an afternoon nap—is probably a good plan. We'll drink more caffeine than anysquid needs after that. You're not gonna just keep unpacking, are you?”

Marina shakes her head. “Might try out the kitchen, though. See you at four tomorrow evening for costume and make-up?”

“And we'll start our intro concert at 5:30,” Pearl says, bouncing on her toes. “There's no _way_ they're expecting us to do a new song for a splatfest, not before it's out anywhere! It's gonna be _fresh_ as all _fuck_!”

“Shark Bytes, Nasty Majesty, Acid Hues, and Muck Warfare,” Marina runs through their set list. “We'll do Color Pulse the rest of the time, and Ebb and Flow before every break _and_ for the ending. Rest your voice.”

“I'm gonna bring the princess cannon this time,” Pearl says. “Stash it behind your turntables and bring it out for the closer.”

Marina laughs. “It's a _bullhorn_.”

“Not after I bling it!”

Marina laughs again. “Please don't break anything this time. Like those windows during the action comedy splatfest. Or when we were performing on that boat. Or those speakers back when you were with the metal gang. Or--”

“You worry too much.” Pearl elbows her. “I promise, Rina. It'll be fine.”

Marina gives Pearl a hug and shoves her out the door. Pearl's laughing, too, so it's all good.

Marina stretches her arms overhead and checks the time. Seven o'clock. Plenty of time to cook a nice late supper and get a good night's rest. To check all her instruments again and gargle salt water and take a nap and everything else.

The timer dings an hour later, and she pulls out her baked potatoes stuffed with cheese and onions, spoons out clams fried with peas and mushrooms in teriyaki sauce, and her stomach grumbles at the smells. She made too much, enough for lunch tomorrow and leftovers after the Splatfest as well, which is just as well because she'll be exhausted--

There's a knock on her door.

Marina frowns, then forces herself to relax. This building is secure; _no one_ is going to get in to hurt her here. It's probably one of her new neighbors. She's heard about this, from people in nicer neighborhoods: people who go to those who've just moved into the building and offer them cookies, or a card, or just a smile and greeting. That must be it.

Still, no use being careless. Marina leaves her plate on the table and looks through the peephole.

Marie Cuttlefish stands there, at her door.

_No way._

Marie lives here?! Does Callie too? No, no they mustn't, there's no _way_ the Squid Sisters live in such a modest building, but, but maybe, but, aaa! It's Marie!

Marina takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. Like Pearl says: put away the fangirl for later. Marina undoes the chain, flips the lock, opens the door. “This is a nice surprise,” she says, smiling. “I haven't seen you away from Callie since her return. Come on in.”

Marie smiles back at her, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Well, I heard you'd moved into this building. I had to come see your new place, didn't I?” She walks past Marina and settles on the couch. “It's much nicer than your old one.”

Marie never saw her old one, but she supposes everyone knows the dump she used to live in. “So do you live here?” Marina asks, closing and locking the door again (instinct, second nature after everything from before). She twists her hands together. “I was just about to have supper; would you care to join me?”

“Thank you, but no. You may as well eat,” says Marie, getting to her feet. “I'll join you at the table.”

Despite Marie's protests, Marina makes sure she has a full glass of orange juice (no pulp) and strives to carry on a normal conversation, asking how Marie's parents are (fine), if she and Callie will be going solo or getting back together (together, definitely, but less intense so they can keep up their movie deals and other projects), and what Marina and Pearl plan to do for their two weeks off before the June splatfest (Go to the beach and climb more trails on Mount Nantai). It's easy talking to Marie, who responds to every question with a perfect answer, who speaks calmly and concisely as Marina finishes her meal and sets down her fork and knife.

That's the moment when Marie says, “I'm sorry to say this, but I did have a specific reason for seeking you out today, and it's not going to make either of us comfortable.”

Marina blinks at her. “I'm sorry?”

Marie sighs, shakes her head, and reaches into a pocket. She pulls out a small case, about the size of her two hands, and opens it.

Hypnoshades gleam from the case.

Marina leaps backwards, knocking over the chair and is almost in the next room when Marie grabs her. “Calm down,” Marie orders.

Marina smacks her, pulls away, and Marie releases her so suddenly she tumbles to the floor. Marie pins her there, knees on her legs, hands on her arms, and Marina's panic spikes. “I said _calm. Down.”_ Marie orders. “I know you know what those are. You're _not_ in trouble.”

“I'm not putting those on,” Marina says, her hearts pounding and her breathing fast, twisting and writhing and trying to throw Marie off but Marie's even got two of her three useful _tentacles_ under control, “and you're not putting them on me, I just _got_ away, I—I'm not even sure I _did_ get away but no, _no_ , just—I swear if you try to put those on me I don't care if you're a Squid Sister I will—I don't know _how_ they got to you but--”

Marie covers her mouth. “Take a deep breath,” Marie says. “You're not putting those on. Your name is Marina _Ida_ , awol Combat Engineer, octoling and high-ranking member of Octarian Society, but here in Inkopolis you're just Marina, news host and up and coming musician. You have _nothing_ to fear from me.”

Marina gasps through her nose, in, then out, several times, wiggling, struggling, working to free herself even as she tries to calm down. It's only then does she think, realize she could turn Octo—no, she'd be too slow with her stupid tentacle, and, and, and.

And how does Marie know that?

“I'll release you when you're calm,” Marie says, and Marina heaves in another breath, lets it out, repeats. She tries to focus on that, but it doesn't help, because her breathing keeps hitching and her hearts keep pounding and she can't.

Marie begins to hum. Calamari Inkantation.

Marina joins in without thinking, her voice going up and down the notes, the high-pitched fast-paced song that promised freedom and hope and maybe, maybe delivered. And then Marie moves on to City of Color, and Marina goes along with her, her voice steadying and breathing calming with the slower sounds, the need to control herself, and by the time Marie's halfway through Tide Goes Out Marina's... maybe not calm, but closer than she thought she could be.

Marie uncovers her mouth. “Better?” Marie reaches into a pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, wipes beneath Marina's eyes; they're wet, and tears still leak from the corners, no matter how she tries to blink them away. “I apologize; there's really no good way to bring this sort of thing up.”

“How do _you_ know about it?” Marina asks.

Marie raises an eyebrow, still the picture of composure. “While I believe Agent Three was best known for being a menace before you left Octarian Society, I'm sure you were also aware of Agent Two.” Marina's breath catches in her throat again. “I held you at charger point in an alley not long after the release of Ebb and Flow, before deciding you were harmless.”

_ **Holy shit.** _

“You?! That was  _ you? _ Don't tell me—no, you and Callie do everything together, is she Agent One? Cod, you're not gonna splat me now, are you? Or--”

“I don't think that qualifies as calm,” Marie covers Marina's mouth again. “Yes, I understand Octarian, though I have difficulty pronouncing it. No, I won't splat you, unless you're planning to tell people about this—and I have confidence you don't. I am currently unarmed. Callie is indeed Agent One; she went missing because she was kidnapped and made to work for Octarian Society via hypnoshades. We haven't done public performances, save for writing Fresh Start, because she's still highly unstable: unsure whether what she's seeing now is real or a further hallucination.” Marie pauses and tips her head to one side. “I don't suppose you know how long that side effect lasts?”

Marina draws in a shaky breath and holds still. Releases it, draws another. Hums Color Pulse, lets the music (about ink, about differences, about competition and beauty and friendship) that'd be forbidden at home soothe her, until Marie uncovers her mouth. “I—I'm still not sure,” Marina admits. “ There are still times where I'm—I mean, it seems really unlikely they'd go this far, but I can't be  _ sure. _ ”

“Lovely.” Marie sighs. “Any way you can be sure?”

If she goes to Mount Nantai with Pearl. Every Octoling she knows has gone to Mount Nantai and walked that path and had the person they walked with balance on the log. It's part of Octarian society, a sequence programmed in and so inescapable that it's _bound_ to happen. “ I—I think so, at least for me. But I'm not ready to know this is fake. And if I say it out loud, they'll know what it is, and—and change it.”

Marie raises an eyebrow. “Do it on your vacation. You deserve to _know_ you're free. But in the meantime, the glasses have the side effect of making Callie keep putting them on. I need you to disable them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first splatfest after Octo Expansion's release, and one that (it seems) many of the first people to buy it were able to do with their octolings, was Orange Juice: Pulp VS No Pulp on June 23 in the NA version. The splatfest mentioned here is round 3 of TMNT splatfests, which occurred on May 19. I actually had to go back and fix this, because I figured the first splatfest after the release would logically be Squids VS Octopuses in July... so if you see any mentions that don't go with this in the next few chapters, it's because I missed fixing something.


	28. Precious

_Each of you has food to eat, every day, thrice a day.  
_ _You have a place to sleep that will not cause bodily harm.  
_ _Heat and cold are no concern of yours.  
_ _You are required to stay physically fit._  
_Your every need is provided for.  
_ _You deserve nothing else._

Marina grins at Scale. “Pearl still asleep?”

“An astute observation, Miss Marina.” Scale the butler steps to one side. “Though I admit to hearing no less than six alarm clocks this morning.  _ Do _ come in.”

Marina takes off her boots in the entryway, stretches, and detours to the kitchen to drop off breakfast and grab a glass of water before she starts up the stairs. Pearl's room is down the third hallway on the right, take a left at the golden fountain, take a right at the sixth shoe closet, turn down the hall lined with photos of the two of them. On the right side of this hallway are them at performances, on the news, or clipped out of newspapers; on the left are casual poses, Pearl crowdsurfing, one of Marina asleep writing Shark Bytes (in honor of that one  _ horrendous _ Salmon Run shift at high tide where they faced nothing but maws and steel eels, splatting over a dozen of each before finally being overwhelmed. And also about how media and the government lies to people) that Marina  _ hates _ , and dozens of mountain-climbing selfies.

Pearl's door is locked, but Marina has a key. She pushes it open. “Rise and shine, Pearlie!” Then she ducks the pillow Pearl throws at her.

“Nnnnngghhh.”

Marina laughs. “Come on, sleepyhead! The sun's been up for an hour! The Umami Trail's a tough one; we need an early start or else we'll wind up camping.”

“Camping?” Pearl sits up, blinks twice, and flops back down, looking  _ completely  _ adorable. “Oh. Or else. I am  _ not _ the sun,” Pearl grumbles, and rolls over.

Marina raises an eyebrow. “I stopped at Crusty Sean's and bought us both schwaffles. If you're not downstairs in ten minutes, I'm putting ketchup on yours.”

Somewhere in the mess of pillows and blankets strewn across Pearl's king sized bed, an alarm starts going off. Pearl swears and throws herself across the bed, digging down through four layers to silence the thing. “You are  _ disgustingly _ cheerful at this hour.” Pearl finally manages to silence the alarm and flops down again, yawning. “Camping doesn't sound bad. Why don't we go camping? We don't have to be anywhere tomorrow.”

“No tent, no sleeping bags, no equipment, no plan. Bring a sweatshirt; it's gonna be chilly for a while yet.”

Pearl buries herself in the covers again. With practiced aim, Marina tosses the glass of water all over Pearl and books it from the room before Pearl can escape the blankets. Pearl's shrieks follow her back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Pearl appears in the kitchen, wearing a tank-top and short shorts and yawning. “Did you ruin the shwaffles?”

“Nah, you made it on time.” Marina tries to be light-hearted, but her hearts are pounding. Umami Trail is the trail with the log over the river. The one she hiked in dozens of remembrances.

The one that'll let her know, once and for all, if this is real.

The two of them eat their breakfast, then pull on their shoes and head out. Mount Nantai is almost deserted right now, so they gave their bodyguards the day off, and each travels with weapons: Marina, her brella, and Pearl, her duallies.Marina's got on boots and leggings and her favorite pink-and-yellow sweatshirt on over a tanktop; Pearl doesn't change at all. “You're going to freeze when we get higher up,” Marina comments.

Pearl makes a show of rolling her eyes. “I'm wearing twice as much as  _ you _ were when we met.” She pulls on her hiking backpack. “I'll be fine.”

Marina rolls her eyes and pulls on her own backpack. They both have two full bottles of liquid to drink as they hike, but Marina's also got her mini practice keyboard with the fake drums and their recording microphones so they can work on things (they've gotten lots of bits and pieces of songs, or just screaming, done up there) and the first-aid kit and magnifying glass and sunscreen. Pearl has their picnic lunch and whatever else she deemed essential.

Considering the seashells, weird rocks, hammers, engines, rope, and other objects Marina's wound up carrying for Pearl on previous trips, Marina doesn't dare ask what she's got this time. It's gotta be ridiculous, though; the pack's almost bigger than she is.

They've reached the base of the trail when Pearl pauses to look at her. “Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

Marina blinks, shakes her head, and pushes her longest tentacle out of her eyes. “Just admiring it all,” she says.

Pearl raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.  _ Sure _ you're not wondering about if it's gonna be this trail?” Pearl scans the list posted at the foot of the track. “We want to follow the pink octagons. You still haven't told me anything about your family.”

Marina swallows hard and lets Pearl lead. “I had a younger brother. Harbor. And Mom, and Dad. But...” She pauses to take a sip from her first bottle, already half empty. “If they're still alive, I don't want  _ anything _ to do with them. Or the stuff around them. Not anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Pearl says. “But you still like  _ some _ of your past, don't you? Else you wouldn't want to be here all the time.”

Marina doesn't want to be here. Not now. Not this trail. Not with her stomach clenching and hearts pounding and knowing,  _ knowing _ that in a few hours she'll be sure this has all been fake, all this time. 

And if it's not?

Marina stops that thought right there, before it has time to take root. “I've been working on some beats for our next song. I wanna do a call and response. Something really  _ fresh _ and  _ loud _ , ya know? The sort of thing they'd play at Turf War and the kids sharking'll get caught because they yell along with it.”

“We've gotta work superjumping into it, then,” says Pearl. “It's like flying! You just make a leap into the air, not gonna know where you come down. You just gotta have faith it's gonna be in a spot with a teammate and not a spot where a splat's waiting.”

“Pearlie, I've superjumped maybe  _ twice _ for just that reason.”

“Next time we turf together, you need to spend thirty seconds just jumping up and down at the spawn,” says Pearl. She skips a few steps. “Hey! Maybe we can just grab a bunch of people—Callie and Marie, they're kinda friends now, that intern that's always giving us the big eyes when she thinks we're not looking, a couple others—and just do an eight-person squid party. All beakons, jump up and down in the middle of the map.” She tries to skip a few steps and the weight of her pack almost makes her fall over. 

“What's in there, anyway?”

Pearl ducks her head. “Stuff.”

“You're gonna be exhausted before you're halfway up. What  _ kind _ of stuff. Can I carry any of it?”

“No! It's gonna be a surprise.”

Marina's eyebrows climb towards her tentacles. “Pearl--”

“The sky is really pretty this morning, isn't it?” Pearl glances up.

Marina does too. The path's going through a clearing now; she can see the sky. It's a shade of blue you never see with hypnogoggles on, pure and innocent as a child's first turf war. Clouds, white and light-gray, form different shapes as they blow across the sky. Back in the domes, she saw pictures of the sky, and she thought the clouds always stayed the same, puffy white circles. Not shifting, morphing like an octoling going from kid to octo, the shapes up there look like a steel eel. As she watches, quiet, it separates, until it's more like the squid sisters dancing. “It's gorgeous.  Better than I could ever imagine a sky could be.”

The two stare for a few more minutes, before Marina realizes she slipped into Octarian. “Uh, sorry.”

“It's all right,” Pearl says, and takes Marina's hand, laces their fingers together. “Some things you just understand.”


	29. Maybe

_Congratulations, students. You have completed school.  
_ _You are now ready to move on in your lives.  
_ _Never forget the information you learned here._

_The way to treat fellow octarians._  
_Your debt to society.  
_ _What inklings deserve._

_Remember these, and you will never face uncertainty._

“So here we have a tent, two sleeping bags, a portable stove, several portable chargers, and food,” Pearl says, smugness radiating from her. “3/4 of the way up your favorite mountain. And absolutely no one here.” Pearl turns to Marina and props her hands on her hips, grinning smugly. “You kept  _ saying _ you wanted some time just to relax. Well, here we are. My dad told me to camp here, go to the summit tomorrow, come down on the third day. And  _ neither _ of us have anything better to do.”

Marina laughs. “ _ This _ is the big surprise?” She sets down her bag with a thud. “A camping trip?”

“You've been talking about it for ages, Rina! Wanting to go on hikes, how you miss seeing the stars now that you've got your own place, have you ever even  _ built _ a campfire?”

“Well, no, but--”

“We're building a campfire,” Pearl says, nodding several times.

Marina swallows hard. “Can we—can we climb just a little further, first?” She has to force the words out. “Some of this has looked familiar.”

“Sure.” Pearl sets down her own bag. “There's supposed to be a river somewhere along here; we can go fishing!”

Marina shudders.

“Catch and release, you baby,” adds Pearl.

“I feel  _ sorry _ for them.” Marina tries not to whine. “They're just going about their everyday lives, swimming around and eating, and they're yanked to a painful new reality and death.” If you ignore the 'death' part, that's just what happened to Marina, way back when she first heard the Calamari Inkantation for the first time. So much has happened; so much has changed. It doesn't seem real.

“It's no different than what you get at the store,” says Pearl.

“They don't  _ look _ at me at the store, Pearl.”

And Pearl rolls her eyes and drops her pack on the ground as well. “Let's have lunch and set up the tents first,” Pearl suggests.

Marina spreads out their picnic blanket and lunch: sandwiches, pre-made smores (though no doubt they'll make real ones tonight), juice, chips, and—just for Pearl—a small, unopened jar of mayonaise (ugh). When she looks up, Pearl has set up... well, she's... oh, worm. “Pearl, do you need some help with the tents?”

“No,” Pearl says, as Marina gets to her feet. “Everything's going just fine, Rina.”

Marina unwinds the canvas to discover Pearl managed to snap three tent poles to each other and trap herself in a shape she'd have previously said couldn't exist. Even now, it brings a smile to her face. “You should stick to rapping, Pearlie.”

“I can do it,” protests Pearl, and Marina bites back her smile. She turns away from Pearl and takes the other tent, setting it up with slow, deliberate steps. Every time she looks over, Pearl isn't watching her, but her tent is set up exactly as much as Marina's is.

Marina does  _ not _ smile. Pearl likes doing things by herself when she can, to be normal, not a spoiled rich girl. She won't want Marina to step in, or show her step by step. She has her pride. But she's so cute when she does things this way.

“Finished!” Marina announces at last.

“Me too,” Pearl says. “I'll wash up after we eat, since you did lunch.”

Marina rolls her shoulders. “Not much to clean. How about you cook supper?”

“Deal.”

The sandwich tastes like Octarian field rations. Marina takes small bites and chews and chews, struggles to swallow. Even the juice seems dry.

Pearl nudges her. Marina glances over. “Yo yo yo, it's MC Princess in da house! We got lunch, it's better than brunch, and soon we're going hiking, I've got a hunch!”

Marina's giggles almost make her cry. Pearl. She noticed. And...

“I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought I'd be,” Marina says, wrapping up the sandwich. She finishes the last of her chips, though they stick in her throat. “I'll take this with me; I'll probably want it while fishing.”

“I'll grab the poles,” Pearl says, running for her bag.

While Marina wraps everything up (though she takes the bag of chips and extra water) and secures it from wildlife, Pearl slots together their fishing poles. Then, a bounce in her step, she starts up the path. “Come on!”

Marina takes a deep breath and follows her.

The air up here is clear and still; the trees aren't as dense. Ten minutes of walking, and there's a rock Marina recognizes. She doesn't realize she stopped until Pearl's beside her. “You okay?”

“This is it,” she says, out loud for once. “I...” Harbor. She swallows hard. “I kinda suspected, but...”

“It's been years, but nature doesn't change fast,” Pearl says. She looks around. “Do we need to be ready for any of your relatives to show up? Anyone  _ else _ from that--” she stops, takes a deep breath. “Do you want to stop here?”

Marina shakes her head. “Let's keep going,” she says.

Pearl nods and leads the way. But Marina notices she's got her duallies in her hands. She needs to distract Pearl. She needs to distract  _ herself _ . So she hums Color Pulse as she walks, and Pearl joins in. Then, she just hums... anything. Making up tunes, pausing so Pearl can make something up, sometimes together, sometimes separate, and every now and then they'll return to the pumping Woah-oh-oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh! they want to use in their next song.

If they can get words to this, they may have something.

But it all leaves her mind when she sees the log. Over the river.

Her brain screeches to a stop, and she steps closer to it, looking at Pearl from the corners of her eyes.

Two, three more steps. Any moment now. They're going to walk alongside it on their way to the top, and--

“This looks fresh,” Pearl says, walking to the edge and peering down. No more than a step away from the log.

Marina's hearts stop.

“Ugh, the water's all wrong for good fish, though. Too shallow, too fast. Do you wanna try anyway, or keep going?” Pearl turns her back on the river and walks back to Marina. “If we don't find a spot soon, we'll have to turn around anyway.”

It's  _ real _ .

“We, um...” Marina puts a hand on a tree to steady herself. “I only r-remember one river on this path. So, we may as well go back.”

It's  _ real. _ And it's been real  _ all this time. _ Is that even possible?

“Do you need to sit for a minute?” Pearl stands on her tiptoes and reaches up, trying for Marina's forehead. “You're all pale.”

“I don't think I've had enough to drink,” Marina mumbles, and opens her bottle. To avoid Pearl's eyes.

It's real? It's really real? It's...

“We'll finish the hike tomorrow, then,” Pearl says, and continues past, satisfied.

No. No, Marina can't believe it yet. They'll walk past it again tomorrow, on their way up. And again, coming back down.

It's not real, it's not real, it's—it might be real. It just might be.

It  _ might _ .


	30. Peak

_So many things we do are unnecessary.  
_ _Emotions only purpose is to distract us from our purpose.  
_ _Ideals serve to distract us from our goals._  
_One day, we'll have hypnoequipment—glasses, maybe, or visors, or full helmets—to eliminate those.  
_ _Then all will be at peace, as we do what our leader commands._

Marina's nerves light up the entire walk up the mountain. She tries not to show it, she tries to enjoy the clouds in front of the sunrise (which Pearl begrudgingly wakes up for, an entire pot of coffee in her hand, then sits at Marina's side, close enough their legs press, watching the shades of orange and gold shift with stark attention), and the way the morning light strikes the leaves as they walk (the shades of green seem to shift, a million of them, more and more and more as they shift in the wind and catch the light and there is nothing,  _ nothing  _ like this in the domes. Was it in other remembrances? She can't remember). Neither of them are talkative, Pearl because of the morning, Marina because of the tightness in her chest, but Pearl walks past the log, and the river, without sparing it a passing glance.

A knot tightens in her chest, and Marina breathes slowly, in and out twice. This is... huh. It's...

Maybe on the way down. Maybe.

Or maybe it's real. It's  _ real _ .

No. Nonononono. It's—she can't let herself think it's real. She  _ can't _ . She's been on the surf—she's been in this remembrance for  _ three years  _ now. She went hiking for the first time to confirm it. She befriended  _ Pearl _ because it was clearly what they didn't want. She's avoided splatting anyone in Turf, she gave designs to GrizzCo, she's written entire pieces of music  _ entirely _ to defy them, to anger them, to let them know  _ she _ knows this isn't real. Half her life is built on this defiance.

But when they reach the peak of the mountain—Umami trail is the first one that brought them all the way up—and stand there, breathless, she looks at the clear sky and breathes the thin air and tears come to Marina's eyes, because nothing is the  _ slightest _ bit pink. She can't even imagine the pixels. The few clouds drift by lazily, so close she can almost touch them, and they're  _ real _ . They never looked this close before, but then, even in remembrances, she never stood on this peak and breathed the chill air and heard a quiet bird chorus around her. She could stand up here forever.

“I'm cold,” Pearl grumbles.

Marina laughs and peels off her pink and yellow sweatshirt. “Here,” she says, handing it to Pearl.

Pearl glances at Marina and glances away. “But you'll be cold without it. You've got on even less than me.”

“I'll be fine,” Marina says. “The breeze feels nice.” It's not even a lie: all the climbing made her hot, and even though she wishes she'd chosen a longer undershirt instead of the bellyshirt she's got, it's all right.

Seeing Pearl pull her sweatshirt on makes Marina feel warm inside. She tells herself it's because it's nice to repay the favor. Pearl bought her the first true Inkopolis clothing she had, gave her her first home off the streets, made sure she could read and write and take care of herself. She owes Pearl everything.

And it makes her feel good to see Pearl swathed in her sweatshirt, the base of it coming down past her shorts, the sleeves engulfing her hands. Pearl pulls the hood up and balances her crown on top. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” Marina sits on the sparse, rocky ground of the peak and lies down. “It's almost like you could fall into the sky.”

“Bet that'd be better than water,” Pearl says, looking down at her, then past her, towards another path up. “What's that?”

“Hmm?” Marina turns to look in that direction and her breath catches. She can see Octo Valley from here. She almost thinks she can make out a  _ kettle— _ oh no, what if that's what Pearl is asking about? “I'm not sure. What are you looking at? The view's pretty, though.”

“Well, yeah, but...” Pearl takes one duallie out of her belt and walks forward, looking at the ground. She picks something up. “Is this a walkie-talkie? I haven't seen one of these since I was a squid!”

Marina moves to meet Pearl halfway. “Are you sure? I haven't seen one in, well, ever.”

Pearl holds the item up, a piece of plastic with an antenna. “I think it's broken. Wanna hike back and fix it? I'll make grilled cheese and we can jam after lunch.”

Marina takes it from her, turns it over in her hands. There's a back panel held on by a screw; Marina's got a screwdriver with her, of course, and everything she'd need to fix her keyboard and keytar and guitar if necessary. And of course a wifi transponder, and...

Yeah. Marina focuses on that, keeps her brain there, but even so she can't help but raise her head, watch, her steps slowing, as they go past the log again...

And Pearl doesn't even look at it.

Because this is  _ real  _ (it's not it's not it can't be it's  _ not) _ and Marina can't deal with that, not here, not when she was so prepared for—for anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The limitation of 'snapshots' is that these aren't a full story; there are dozens upon dozens of moments and transition periods left out. Some of those will be points in Octo Expansion you'd like to see, because they didn't make as much impression as a moment or two you may not be expecting...


	31. Dreams

_Do you remember anything of home?_

_I'm not sure.  
_ _Things just, hit me sometimes—especially when I get those memcakes.  
_ _And every time I look at Cuttlefish, I feel like I should hate him.  
_ _But I don't._

_That summarizes it pretty well, really.  
_ _We lost a war, hundred years back._

_And the Inklings won._

_So we're supposed to hate them, and them us._  
_But they didn't know we moved underground.  
_ _They think we're extinct._

_So what happens when they find out?_

Pearl doesn't snore when she sleeps, exactly. It's more of a whuffling, a slight groan on the breaths in and out, like all the quiet noises she doesn't know how to make when she's awake have to find their way out because she can never be truly silent. Last night, when Marina stared at her tent's ceiling and heard it, it was comforting; a reminder, a connection to the times Pearl fell asleep over a piece of music, the naps in their changing rooms, the afternoons sharing hotels.

But tonight, it serves as a sign that she is truly, deeply _alone_ , and there are too many thoughts in her head for her to just sit with them.

Marina unzips the tent and steps out, grinding dirt and pine needles into her socks. The walkie talkie is still by the campfire; her phone is next to it ( _I know you're worried about them, Rina, it sounds like they're in some deep shit, but leave it. It's not gonna rain tonight and I know you, you'll just stay up and keep poking at it like you do with everything you think needs fixing_ ) and she picks it up. Puts it in her pocket, the weight of it comforting.

Either this is real, or Octarian Command knew. Either this is real, or Octarian Command has decided to punish her. Because Eight—she can't see Eight very well through those cameras, but she can see enough. It's—she spent the afternoon talking with the person who _trained_ the agent who defeated DJ Octavio, and that organization (whether by choice or circumstance) is willing to even let _octolings_ work for them, and what are the odds of that? Though Eight has amnesia, so maybe it's not quite the same thing. If she's even seeing it right. If she's not just seeing things out of hope.

And how punishing would it be, to make Marina watch someone in an even _worse_ situation than she was?

Marina picks up the walkie-talkie, sits on the ground, and turns it on. “Is anyone over there?”

There's a moment of silence. Then, “The old inkling is asleep.”

Marina wants to laugh. She wants to cry. Would Octarian Command do this, even? “That's fine.”

Indrawn breath. “You speak Octarian?!”

“I do.” Her hearts hurt. It's been so long... “It's a little bit of a secret, though. Long story. I saw your tentacles, and I thought you might. How are you holding up, Eight?”

“I mean, I've been with Captain long enough to know Inklish, it's not that, it's just...” Another long breath out that catches; Marina almost swears she can hear a sob. “I didn't realize I knew what home  _ sounded _ like until this.”

“You're not missing much.” Marina releases the button that lets her talk, takes a deep breath herself, blinks fast, two, three, a dozen times until she's pressed back her tears. “I'm an Octoling too, but Inklings are ridiculously unobservant. No one even realizes it. And 'home' is the sort of place I ran from, fast as I could, soon as I knew there was something else. Never regretted it.”

There's silence from the other end of the line. Marina stares up, at the sky. There are stars up there, millions, trillions; Marina could get lost in them. Night in the dorms is just dark. No use wasting electricity when no one's meant to be active.

“Is it worse in the domes than it is here?”

Either Eight heard Calamari Inkantation too, and struck out on her own, or she lost everything; no one with hypnogoggles or glasses, no one under their effects even after they broke, would even insinuate anything in the domes is less than perfect. But then, Eight did three tests today. But then, Eight might be a trick. “I'm not sure about worse. A different type of terrible. It's...” Marina's never talked about her past, has spent the past three _years_ deflecting it. “I've spent the past three years refusing to admit this was real, it's so much better.”

Silence, on the other end. Then, “I need to sleep. But can we talk again?”

Marina bites her lip and nods, though Eight can't see it. “I'll figure something out so you can keep the walkie-talkie. We'll talk again.”

“All right. May darkness hold you safe,” says Eight, and they're gone.

Marina drops the walkie-talkie; it clatters off her legs onto the ground, but she doesn't care, just presses her hands to her mouth and blinks and _blinks_ but tears escape anyway. She hasn't heard that since the _domes_.

That first time she spent the night at Pearl's place, she heard the phrase 'sweet dreams'. She didn't even know what 'dreams' meant, not really, she'd just heard 'follow your dreams' and thought it was some sort of goal. She looked it up later, when she had her first phone, but that night, she just felt comforted. It was a bedtime ritual, a hope that the other would achieve their ambitions, that they would have a pleasant night working towards them. Then, once she knew what it meant, it became a sincere hope that Marina would be happy, even as she slept.

It's a phrase she cherished and held close to her chest.

But _May darkness hold you safe?_

She didn't realize how much she _missed_ it.

“Rina?”

Marina jumps, turns on the spot. Pearl blinks at her from the tent, yawning, tentacles flopping sideways on her head, one sticking to her nose. She pushes that tentacle out of her face, pushes them all back, where they tangle with each other but fall more-or-less in their normal places.

“Not funny,” Pearl grumbles, leaving the tent all the way. She shivers when her bare feet touch the ground, but what draws Marinas' eyes are that Pearl's still wearing her sweatshirt. “I told you to go to bed. They'll be fine without us for a few hours; they're sleeping too. What's got you crying?”

Marina swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and looks away from Pearl. “Just... thinking. About all this.” About you. About the past. About _three years_ where I didn't think, didn't realize, any or all of this was real and now it _is_ or it could be and no one knows I'm an octoling.

“It's crazy.” Pearl joins her on the ground, so close their knees touch. “Secret agents, stuck in some mad testing facility?” Pearl shakes her head. “It might just be the bad cameras, since we can only see it through your cell phone, but Eight looks a lot like you.”

Marina's hearts stutter.

“Do you think Eight's, well, from your home?” Pearl goes on; she picks up the walkie talkie and turns it over in her hands. “You don't talk about it much, now or ever. But you've acted weird, ever since you saw Eight, on that little screen.”

Marina swallows. “This whole day has just been too strange.”

“I guess,” Pearl says, and flops on her back. Marina glances at her as she links her arms behind her head. “Still, if Eight wants to come to Inkopolis... it'll be overwhelming. We may have to intervene.” Pearl yawns and glances at Marina. “I thought I said no more phone tonight.”

Marina didn't even realize she'd taken it out. “The walkie talkie isn't exactly reliable,” she says. “I think I could set up a chatroom. For us and the captain. That way, even if the walkie talke doesn't work when we leave Mount Nantai--” which it will, Marina will make sure of it-- “we can stay in touch.”


	32. Failure

**Failure**

_Sounds like no one knows you're an octoling, up there._

_They don't.  
I didn't mean to hide it.  
Just—it's easier._

_When I reach the surface, will I have to?_

_I don't know.  
_ _But you know I'm safe._

_You and the Captain and Pearl._

_...Yeah. Me and the Captain and Pearl._

**I was thinking we could get to know each other better by posting pics of ourselves!** Marina types. She flicks through her phone, bringing up picture after picture. Her and Pearl after a splatfest. Her and Pearl on Mount Nantai. Pearl, sitting across from her in Inkopolis Square's studio. Pearl giving Judd a headscratch. None of them quite captures Pearl's spi—aha!

Marina uploads an old picture of Pearl crowdsurfing, one from just a few weeks before they met. Pearl's recognizable, easy, but more important is it captures _her:_ the energy, the impulsiveness, her willingness to try anything. She presses a quick kiss to the image before hitting send.

And, because Pearl isn't in the chatroom, and she's feeling brave, she adds that Pearl is the coolest.

Then she closes the chatroom and flicks over to the CQ-80 program. She's got it uploaded on Pearl's phone, too, but Pearl can't... Pearl can use technology, but she never dug into it to see how it ticked the way Marina has.

None of the location data makes sense; either it's wrong, or it's something like the domes but even _more_ advanced, and the thought of that makes Marina's stomachs clench. Octarians made, perfected that technology. No one else has it. No one else _knows_ about it, save for the inklings that have invaded the domes to ruin—that went into the domes to retrieve the zapfish Marina and other Octarions took because they deser—stole because they were wearing goggles and couldn't disobey or think of alternatives.

Even now, after all this time, her thoughts give her a headache sometimes. She knows what happened, really. She _knows_ . And—and this is real. It's real, she's in Inkopolis, she's a singer and songwriter and DJ and people recognize her and she has _Pearl_.

She thinks it's real, anyway.

And if she can get Eight through Ballercise Station, someone else will get out, too.

Marina glances over at Pearl, snoring on the couch, then gets up and leaves their practice room. She goes to the nearest bathroom and locks it, then takes the walkie-talkie out of her purse. “ How are you holding up, Eight?” 

There's a burst of static.  “I'm so tired.”  Eight is all but sobbing.  “I'm so, so  _ tired  _ . I've been running, and running, and running, and running, and  _ running  _ , and I just...” 

“Shhhh,”  Marina wishes she could reach through and hug Eight.  “You've been going nonstop. You haven't  _ slept  _ , Eight. And this... you've done a marathon already. Two.”  Marina hesitates, her fingers dancing over her phone.  “I think... I've got enough data, here, almost. If you--”  her voice falters.

“If I what, Marina?” Eight sounds _broken_ , and it hurts Marina's hearts.

“I've... I've been gathering data. With your successes and,” Marina stops for breath, “  and failures. If you—try one more time, please, Eight. Give it everything you have. If you get even half as far this time as last time, I'll have enough info. I'll be able to trick the computer into thinking you did it.” 

She should be able to do it _now_ . She's created splatfest stages with moving floors, inkrails, grapplinks: Octarian technology never seen or used _anywhere_ but the domes. She's created cannons, as much on Mr. Grizz's behest for cohock charges and salmonid control as for splatfests. She's spent weeks, on and off, making hyperbombs to use in case the salmonids get out of control. To use in some splatfest stage, maybe; she's bound to think of something.

She's Marina, popular singer from the duo Off The Hook, co-host of Inkopolis News, known and sometimes admired. She's Ida, former prodigious combat engineer of the Octarian Army's elite Wasabi Unit, designer of two Great Octoweapons and known for her design improvements, who helped steal zapfish and went AWOL after her hypnogoggles malfunctioned.

“ Thanks, Marina. Just... just one more time.”  Eight breathes out a sigh of relief.  “I'm gonna go.” 

Marina holds the phone in both hands and watches as Eight, exhaustion written in the droop of her tentacles and shaking of her arms, fails one more time because Marina isn't good enough to stop it. Because Marina saved herself, but she can't save others.

Not without watching them overbalance, and fall over in the ball, and—and Marina makes herself watch as the glowing bomb on the ink tank goes off, splatting Eight once more, because it's her fault. She doesn't get to look away. Not when this is so clearly her punishment. Hurting her through others. Because if they haven't yet, they're not going to splat her. Not their prized combat engineer.

The phone dings. The program has enough information. Marina's fingers tremble on the touchscreen as she types, calculations, coding, hacking, and it chirps once, twice before playing the familiar 'success' jingle.

Marina puts one hand to her face and lets out a long, shaky breath. At least she doesn't have to watch Eight go through that _again_. It's been three days, and her nerves are shot. It's a good thing they don't have to be back at the studio for another week.

Though they do have to get through that concert tomorrow afternoon. They're just the opening band, playing three numbers to hype people up for the Squid Sisters, but under any other circumstances she'd be going over and over everything so they'd be ready. She'd be hyped out of her mind for the upcoming show.

“ Thanks, Marina,”  says Eight.

“ Get some rest,”  Marina replies.  “See if anyone on the train can give your legs a good massage; they've gotta need it.” 

“And you and Pearl'll be quiet tomorrow?”

“We will. But I'll leave my phone on for data collection. Won't be able to give you advice, but, cod forbid you need help again.” She needs to improve it, program it so it can get Eight through those tests without waiting on _any_ failures. Though if this isn't real... she'll never manage it.

“ You're wonderful as the sun. Thanks, Marina.” 

Marina's hearts hurt. “ May darkness hold you safe, Eight.” 

The line goes silent. Marina turns the walkie-talkie off and tucks it away. Then she flicks her phone over to the chat room app and stops.

Pearl got her revenge by uploading pictures of Marina. But where Marina chose the pic that showed Pearl at her most _Pearl_ -ish, Pearl uploaded two.

One that picture Marina _hates_ , of her having fallen asleep mid-songwriting session, a princess pillow tucked under one arm and drooling.

And the other from their first shopping trip together, back when Ebb and Flo was just a demo. Marina's feeding Judd a fish. In her Octarian Army uniform, complete with broken hypnogoggles.

An Octarian Army uniform someone like _Captain Cuttlefish_ may recognize.

“ **PEARL!”**

Pearl leaves the chat room, but she knows her way around Pearl's house by now, and when she catches that girl, she is getting _such_ a lecture.


	33. Pearl

“ _Come on, where do you live? I've gotta see your place. We can jam there. Don't need a mic or recording equipment to just have fun and get better.”_

“ _I'm not letting you store your new clothes on the ground, that's ridiculous. Come on, Rina, you can store your stuff at my place, we'll jam there. It's kinda huge, but don't worry about it; it's my parents. They're never around.”_

“ _I'm starving. Look, I've got this unused room over here, so I'll hang up your stuff in it for safe-keeping and you go clean up in that attached bathroom, put on some of your new stuff. By the time you're done, there'll be grilled cheese. I make_ fresh _grilled cheese.”_

“ _Do you see how dark it is outside? It's not safe to leave right now, Rina. Guess you're spending the night. You can sleep in the room with your clothes. My bedroom's right down the hall, it'll be fine.”_

“ _Good night and sweet dreams, Rina.”_

“Doesn't matter how many concerts we do,” Pearl says, dropping her keys on the table, “I'm always dead after.”

“Not too dead to devour a mountain of fries,” Marina teases. She covers a yawn with her hands. “That was fun.”

“Hey, if the Squid Sisters wanna treat us, it's not like we're gonna say no.” Pearl yanks her dress over her head; her phone tumbles to the floor. “You did a good job keeping the fangirl contained, too.”

“No slips at all,” Marina says, yanks her eyes from Pearl's petite form, and heads for her room. Pearl may strip down in the hallway, but Marina likes her privacy.

“No, you slipped.”

“Did _not_.”

“When they called us onstage to do Now Or Never with them. I was surprised you didn't squeal out loud.”

Marina closes the door most of the way so they can keep talking while she changes. She doesn't _live_ here, but every time she comes, she's in this same room, right down the hall from Pearl's. And her concert outfits are all here, and some spare pajama's... “I wasn't that bad.”

When she turns, comfy sweats and a jacket on, Marina sees Pearl shoved the hand holding her phone through the opening. One of the first reviews is up, a picture of them doing Now Or Never with all four onstage front and center, and Pearl's highlighted the line, ' _Always a treat to see Marina with her heroes.'_

Marina groans and shoves the door open. Pearl grins at her and tucks the phone into the pocket of—“Am I ever going to get my hoodie back?”

“It's mine now.” Pearl's grin makes Marina roll her eyes. She shuts the door in Pearl's face.

Pearl's laughter echoes through the door. Marina ignores it and picks up her phone. Looks like Eight didn't have too much trouble with tests while they were gone, thank cod. But her battery's low, and the walkie-talkie's at her place. She types out a note about getting her charger and heads back to the hallway; Pearl's collapsed on the floor in dramatic hysterics. Marina steps over her. “I'm headed back to my place for my charger. Be back soon.”

“You could borrow mine, you know,” Pearl says, pushing herself up, laughter gone.

She could, but she needs some space to reflect on the concert and everything else and hug herself because it could be _real_ . It's _real_ , maybe, and the two people who inspire her the most, the people who wrote the song that facilitated her escape, _like her_. “Let a girl have her space, Pearlie,” Marina says, reaches over, and knocks off Pearl's crown.

“Hey!”

Marina bounds away, laughing, before Pearl can recover. She slides down the banister like Pearl taught her ages ago (goaded her into doing) and meets her bodyguards at the front door. They have a car, so she has to take care not to lose them in traffic on her amazing bike, but it's still only minutes before she's got her bike in its assigned space and is tapping in the door password. She takes the steps three at a time, unlocks the door, and steps in.

Something inside her uncurls at the sight of her bookcase full of comic books, the polished end table with the walkie-talkie on it, the couch so plush she flops on her stomach onto it and sinks, sunlight on her back. Better than her bed in the domes.

She can reach her charging cord from here, so she does, plugging in her phone and checking again. She keeps the chatroom closed, she doesn't need to hear from Pearl right now, and Eight's midway through another test. She grabs for the walkie talkie and presses the button.  “You holding up?” 

“ Admirably. I haven't had any more problems.”  Eight lets out an annoyed breath.  “8-ball missions are tedious, but not  _ difficult.  _ ” 

“I can understand that,” Marina flicks through the data. Eight doesn't want to explode again (Marina doesn't want Eight to explode, either) so it looks like Eight's been being uber cautious. “  Looks like you at least know where three of the thangs are, now. The hard part's just gonna be reaching them.” 

“Indeed. Please excuse me; I need to concentrate.”

Marina sets the walkie-talkie back on the table and flicks on her phone again. She'll just check some reviews of their show. She'll just...

wake up on her side, almost swallowed by the couch cushions, with shadows enveloping the room.

Oops.

Marina rubs her eyes, flails for her phone, drops it twice before managing to grab it. A quick check on Eight—Eight's fine, got through several more test chambers—and Marina flicks over to the chat room. **Sorry, dozed off at home for a bit,** she types out.

**welcome back young lady im glad you are here**

That... is a very unusual greeting from Cuttlefish. Marina frowns. **What's with him?**

**Sorry, squids out of the bag** , Pearl types, and Marina drops her phone again and scrambles out of the couch, every limb trembling. Squids—Marina grabs at her phone, dropping it another three times, flicks up through the chatroom, types in a '…' out of habit, scrolls—there.

There.

Her at fifteen. Octogoggles on. Seaweed in her hair. Armor on. Labeled for all to see: _Octarian_.

Break the goggles and push them back on her head, dirty the uniform, and she looks just like she did when Pearl met her.

_She knows_.

One new post.

Marina's fingers work on autopilot, typing out ...'s and um's and wow's without truly connecting to her head, because Pearl _knows_.

**See? Everything's totally cool. Kinda.**

_Kinda_.

Marina types out something, she's not sure what with her fingers shaking on the keyboard, drops the phone and wraps her arms around her legs, then her tentacles as well, curling up on the floor in front of the couch and trying not to hyperventilate. _Pearl knows_.

Oh cod.

Pearl's going to splat her. _That's_ the worst punishment they could give, if it's fake. That's the only thing that could happen, if it's real. Inklings and Octolings are enemies. End of story.

Real or not real, it doesn't matter. She's known Pearl for—for three _years_ now, and all this time, it's been a trick, because Marina's an octoling and they're enemies, and now Pearl knows. Pearl knows, and, and—Marina's hearts are pounding out of sync, each as fast as they can go and different speeds all the same, and her breath comes out in short gasps. She clenches her eyes shut tight. Pearl _knows_.

Marina has to type something. Marina has to _say_ something. She has to apologize, she has to, she has to--

Someone knocks on her door. “Marina?”

_Pearl_. How'd she get in?

Marina gave her the passcode.

“Rina! You haven't responded to _anything_ in, like, twenty minutes! Open up!”

No.

But even if Marina wanted to, she can't move. She raises her head, just enough to see the door. She locked it earlier. And--

And it opens, because the only keys Pearl never loses are the ones Marina gives her.

Pearl steps in, still in Marina's sweatshirt and shorts so short Marina can't see them, and looks at Marina with something in her eyes Marina can't read.

“Rina--”

Marina turns Octo and slides under the couch.

“Oh no you--”

Marina stays there. It's childish, she's going to have to come out sometime, but she can at least delay it a little. Pearl's not strong enough to lift the couch, she can't--

A pink inkling in a crown slips beside her. “You're not all right,” Pearl says, shading to teal, wrapping her tentacles around Marina's; she has more of them, and she uses the remaining ones to pull Marina into a hug. “I'm sorry, Rina. I am _so sorry._ I didn't mean to dig into your past like that.”

“What are you _doing?”_ Marina hiccups. It shakes her whole octo form, shakes Pearl as well. She tries to squirm away, but can't—not with Pearl holding her, not being hugged so close. “I'm—you're an inkling. I'm—“ Marina's voice breaks. “I'm _not_. And you know it now.”

“And I don't care,” Pearl says in her ear. “I'm only sorry I found out like this.”

Marina's sobbing outright, now, every breath jerking her whole body. “We're _enemies_.” She tries to pull away again. “Octolings, inklings—I spent my _whole life_ being told the only thing to do if I met one was _splat_ them. Was—I've been waiting for someone to splat _me_ since I came here. So just... just get it over with.” She presses her eyes shut.

Pearl pulls away, not far enough to let go, just far enough that Marina can't press her face against Pearl's more-or-less shoulder. “I am going to _fucking splat_ whoever told you that. Rina. Look at me.” Marina shudders, but opens her eyes, sees Pearl looking back at her, face full of rage and--and something else. “ _No one_ is going to splat you while I'm around.”

“But—”

“Shhh.” Pearl pulls her close again. “I'm here.”

Marina doesn't know how long she cries, hiding under the couch, wrapped in the comforting tentacles of her closest friend, but Pearl is still there when she's out of tears. One tentacle stroking her lucky tentacle; two others rubbing her back. After a few moments, Pearl pulls back. “Better?”

Marina nods. She can't find any Inklish right now.

Pearl guides her out from under the couch and turns back into her kid form, tugs Marina into her lap. “Did you read everything that happened when you were asleep?”

Marina shakes her head. She wraps one tentacle around each of Pearl's wrists.

Pearl takes out her phone, moving slow and careful to avoid jostling the octoling in her lap. “It made sense,” Pearl admits. “Octoling, Octarian... that's how you looked different, why you celebrate Octivus, didn't know much about Squidmas or _anything_ about Inkling culture when I met you. I always thought you'd escaped from a cult or something, though something about how you looked itched at me, too.” She strokes a finger down Marina's head, behind her headphones.

It's a gentle touch, and Marina tries not to hope.

“And... ya know, if you'd told me when we met, I wouldn't've believed you. They teach us in school that Octarians are extinct, ya know? Okay, maybe you don't, you went to a different school and _Cod_ , Marina, you graduated when you were _nine_ , it wasn't that they took you out. I _knew_ you were smart.”

Marina's hearts start to slow.

“So anyway, I told Cuttlefish that if he tries to splat you he's gotta go through me _._ ”

Marina starts. She climbs off Pearl's lap (Pearl sets her down) and turns into herself again, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes wide.

Pearl snuggles against Marina's side, wraps an arm around Marina's shoulders, and holds Marina's phone before their eyes, already scrolled to the right spot. She reads the entire conversation aloud to Marina, like she used to before they released Ebb and Flo and they'd practice reading together in the evenings, giggling over books meant for little squidlings and putting on dramatic re-enactments. The last words Marina can read for herself, Pearl saying, **I always knew you were different, even if we never talked about it.**

Marina can't find her voice, still; her throat's blocked with tears, her nose stuffed, and she keeps blinking away blurred vision. But she releases her legs and takes the phone, types in, for Pearl and Cuttlefish alike, **Do you think I'll still be welcome in Inkopolis? Once everyone knows I'm an octoling?**

Pearl's reading on her own phone, and her fingers fly. **ARE YOU KIDDING? Of course you will! everyone loves you!**

Marina looks away from her phone, back at Pearl.

Pearl squeezes Marina tighter. “You're not getting rid of me, Rina. That's a promise. No matter _what_ , I'm here for you.”

This is real, isn't it? Because they would _never_ let an inkling do this. _Never_.


	34. Friends

_Friendship is an archaic concept.  
_ _Family is necessary.  
_ _Family furthers the growth of the species._  
 _Unnecessary connections invite complications.  
_ _You have no need of them._

“That's what we need to call this.” Pearl bounces on her toes, drumming on the keyboard with her fingertips and making weird clashing notes.

“I don't know, Pearl. I mean, you know, and that's okay, but...”

“Yeah, we don't have to tell _everyone_ ,” Pearl waves a hand, “but we've done songs before about things that aren't real, right? Nasty Majesty was _totally_ about terrible people in power, when, wait.” Pearl props her hands on her hips. “Are _your_ lyrics about a real person?”

Marina blushes and fiddles with the tuning on her keytar. “Kinda.”

“No _wonder_ you left,” Pearl says, her voice holding the horrified revenant tone Marina's been hearing twice a conversation for the past four days. Next'll either come 'That's absolute _shit_ ' or 'I can't even imagine.' “Eight'll hear that shit and stay in Inkopolis for sure.”

Okay, maybe not.

“But, anyway, a lot of our stuff is either hypothetical or just has a good beat, ya know? Ebb and Flow's about life's ups and downs, Color Pulse the pumping of a turf war, people'll just think it's a cool fantasy. 'Fly, Octo, Fly'. What we'd say to an octoling if they came to Inkopolis now, if there were any left.” Pearl crosses her arms. “All that stuff about jumping to where you're wanted, about taking risks and being rewarded, you said your part's basically what you wanted to tell Eight, right? Things will be better if Eight gets here, so Eight has to keep _going._ ”

Marina can't handle eye contact right now. “Yeah,” she says. “It is.”

“And _my_ part is what I want to say to the smartest, bravest, kindest person I know,” Pearl says.

Marina blinks at the floor and replays that sentence in her mind. “Uh, who?”

Pearl makes a noise in the back of her throat. “I'm sick of this. _You_ , Rina.”

Marina stares at her. “I'm not—not brave. Or particularly kind, or,”

“Stop it,” Pearl says, and Marina closes her mouth. Pearl steps around the keyboard separating them, grabs her keytar, unbuckles the neckstrap and sets it to one side. “You left a toxic situation and gave up _everything_ to come to a place you knew nothing about. You decided to try to make me your band member off nothing but one meeting and a hunch. You were willing to support yourself playing on the _streets_ .” Pearl reaches up to cup her cheek. “And you still don't want to hurt anyone, even those you left behind, so much that you don't even like _turf war_.”

Marina pulls away from Pearl's hand. “It's not that,” she says, twisting her hands together, looking anywhere else, at any _thing_ else. “It's—you don't know some of the things I did.”

“Don't care,” says Pearl. “You're not that person now. Besides, did you have a choice?”

There's a couch, just a few steps away, but Marina drops to the floor and wraps her arms around her legs. “You don't understand.”

Pearl drops beside her. Cuddles up close on Marina's side, wrapping Marina in her arms (though they don't quite reach, not all the way around her legs and back). “So tell me.”

“I don't know where to _start_ ,” Marina says, and it's like something breaks. That's happened a lot, these past few days, and she never knows how to handle it. She presses her face against her knees. “Cod, Pearl, I spent _years_ thinking this wasn't real. I was hallucinating, it was--”

“Why the _fuck_ would you think you were dreaming this?!” Pearl's arm wraps a little tighter around her shoulders. “That would be so fucked up.”

Marina can't look at her. “The domes are—were, probably still are—falling apart. Needed more power. I helped steal the zapfish; it didn't just go missing.”

Pearl doesn't pull away. “So?”

“My _specialty_ , as a combat engineer, was designing weapons to hopefully splat inklings.” Marina swallows past a dry throat. “Permanently.”

“You were barely _turf war age_ , Rina, it's okay.”

“It's—my goggles broke. There's a group, I guess they're secret agents or something, that went in and dealt with it, and they played Calamari Inkantation during it, and my goggles broke.” Marina lets out the rest of her breath.

“New Squidbeak Splatoon, according to that file the captain showed us,” Pearl says. “Why does it matter that your goggles broke?”

A laugh (sob?) escapes Marina. “My _hypno_ goggles. Designed to keep me a productive member of society. Everyone wears them.” She raises her head, meets Pearl's stare (horror and terror) and tries to smile. “I could see both—walking around Mount Nantai with my family and marching to the next outpost to orders, buildings that collapsed with people in them and buildings being sealed for repairs, like two movies playing on top of each other. I was supposed to get a pair of hypnoshades, better quality, you can't even tell you're wearing them even if you touch your face, but the building I was in started breaking apart when—I couldn't tell if they'd managed it and it was some elaborate illusion, or if I'd actually escaped.” She forces herself to take a deep breath, in and out. “I'm still not sure, some days, but,”

Pearl kisses her.

Marina stops thinking, stops talking, stops _breathing_. Her eyes flutter closed. Pearl's lips are soft against hers, and firm, and--

Pearl pulls away. “I'm not a fucking illusion, Rina.” She brushes Marina's longest tentacle out of her face. “I'm here. And you are the absolute _best_ , most _amazing_ person I know, and you can be an Octoling, or hell, you could be a _salmonid_ and I'd still love you.”

Marina presses one hand to her lips and stares at Pearl. That was—it was—“Did you mean that?”

Pearl snorts, grabs Marina, and pulls her in again.

This kiss is more insistent, Pearl's lips pressed against her own like they're trying to tell her something, and Marina lets herself kiss back, the way she wanted to that night in the car, pressing back against Pearl and uncurling to hug her close. This feels _right_ , in ways Marina never knew they could, and when Pearl pulls back again, Marina takes the time to catch her breath before pulling her back in.

At last, Pearl pulls away, and Marina lets her. She's exhausted, and happy, and feels sure of herself for the first time ever.

“You have _no idea_ how long I've wanted to do that,” says Pearl.

Marina opens her eyes. She's grinning like a fool, she knows, but she can't bring herself to stop.

“Marina Ida, Octoling, hypnotized bad-ass, awesome musician and whatever the fuck else you wanna talk about, wanna be my girlfriend?” Pearl's grinning, too. “I mean, I'm pretty sure I know the answer, but, ya know.”

Marina laughs, dozens of emotions twisting and bubbling in her stomach until they have to escape somehow. “We—our contracts,” Marina gets out through the giggles. “We can't be in a relationship, right? And,” Marina can't stop herself now, has to fight to talk around her laughter, “and we're supposed to be—be getting _rid_ of, of those rumors, of, oh _cod_.”

Pearl laughs, too. “I would've worked up the courage a lot sooner if it weren't for that damn contract,” Pearl says, leaning back and propping herself on her hands. “I'd been rehearsing what to say in my head for _weeks_ when Marie dropped that on us, and then you were so fucking insistent... fine. Marina Ida, will you be my _secret_ girlfriend? And I fucking love your last name, have I told you that yet, you could've told me it _years_ ago.”

Marina bites her lip, but she can't hold back her smile. “Yes, Pearl, I will be. But 'Ida' is _such_ an Octarian name. I didn't want... I still don't want to just, um, shout it everywhere.”

Pearl waves a hand. “Fine by me. But you know what, Rina?”

Rina shakes her head.

“We are _totally_ gonna write a song about this. Ya know?”

_This is real._


	35. Free

_There are any number of things you cannot experience underground.  
_ _Some we can tell you about:  
_ _The wind on your face,  
_ _The sunlight on water,  
_ _Rain from above._  
 _But the surface is truly too strange to be predicted.  
_ _And that's how you'll know that it's real._

Marina's mouth falls open with shock when the statue rises out of the sea and a goo-covered telephone shrieks insults. Her last doubts vanish. There's not a chance in the _world_ Octarian command would put _this_ in a remembrance.

“And _you_ thought the helicopters were overkill,” Pearl mutters.

Marina elbows her out of habit, typing away on her laptop. Hyper bombs at _these_ locations should cover the statue. “Trying to keep this at least a little bit secret. Eight's superjumping. Warm up your voice.”

“Remind me to tell you about my sixteenth birthday, this is _nothing._ Sing with me?”

Marina types in the last commands, drops the first hyperbombs, and stares at her. “Sing what? You need to warm up!”

“Fly, Octo, Fly.” Pearl's grin has an edge to it. “Let's show we believe in Eight.”

They just finished the song yesterday. Marina starts them off, and Pearl joins in, their voices dancing around each other, cheering, hoping. Pushing Eight on.

When Marina doesn't have to sing, she calls down to Eight, dropping more hyperbombs. You can do this, Eight. Don't be afraid, join us on the surface. It's better here. You can be happy. Don't worry, Marina. _This is real_.

Marina puts every bit of herself into her words. It's been three years since her hypnogoggles broke, almost three since she came to the surface. She has _three years_ of memories: staring at the moon until it set, inklings wearing identical shirts giving her pizza and laughing, Pearl flying off a waterfall and knocking herself silly, the way rain bounced off puddles as she huddled under the bridge, playing music on the streets on a broken keyboard, collapsing face-down on the softest bed she'd ever experienced, Pearl jumping between her and a camping charger her second turf war, lying on the carpet of her first apartment and thinking _this is mine, I have a place now_ , the first time Callie and Marie smiled at her through the window, the way the light changes when it goes through raindrops on windows, handing out homemade CD's with their first single in front of makomart, learning what seasickness is and getting a stockpile of pills for future trips, the recording session for Acid Hues where they turned every color of the rainbow and inked the entire studio for kicks, discovering the Squid Sisters had been in the audience the time they were the intro band for Chirpy Chips, their first day on the news and the excited inklings pressing against the glass to wave, having snowball wars in octo form that ended when Scale the butler picked herself and Pearl up by one tentacle each and dragged their almost frozen forms inside, tossing a bomb in salmon run that revived three crew members, catching Pearl when she missed a step and almost fell off the stage and nearly going over as well, posing for selfies with the Squid Sisters, the sound of a fire crackling on Mount Nantai, the shapes made by the stars.

And all of it, ALL OF IT, is _real_.

You can do this, Eight. You _need_ to do this. I want you to have these memories, too, these and _more_ . I want _everybody_ to have memories like these. Don't hesitate; don't be scared. Believe in yourself. _You can do this._

By the end of the song, Marina's exhausted. Eight superjumps back, but Marina keeps her eyes on her laptop and groans. “Energy readings don't indicate a full charge, but it looks like it's going to fire anyway.”

And then Pearl jumps from the helicopter ( _**WHAT?!** _) and down to the platform where Eight and Cuttlefish stand. Marina's hearts climb to her throat as she watches, Pearl slapping Eight on the back, bringing out her special, pulling out the bullhorn.

The beam of light streaks from the statue, oozing green and dropping chunks and Marina _screams._

So does Pearl.

The statue doesn't stand a chance.

Marina jumps off the helicopter too, landing on the platform they've got suspended beneath it. Pearl's there, arms spread wide, grandstanding as smug as she ever is and Marina leaps the unconscious inkling that was with Eight and Cuttlefish to tackle her into a hug. They both fall over, Marina on top of Pearl, and for a long few seconds Marina just stays there, hugging Pearl so tight she squeaks. Thank _cod_ that worked. Thank _cod_ Pearl is okay.

Pearl flails her arms and legs beneath Marina. “You're crushing me,” she grumbles.

Marina uses her tentacles to hide their faces and presses a kiss to Pearl's cheek. “It's over.”

“And it was _awesome,”_ Pearl says, giving up her flailing to wrap her arms around Marina.

“You're safe.”

“You think a measly statue and gooball could hurt me?” Pearl laughs and tugs one of Marina's tentacles.

“It's _real_.”

“Man, if I knew destroying stuff on purpose could convince you of that, I would've done it _ages_ ago.”

“How are we going to cover _this_ up from the media?”

Pearl laughs, loud and long, the force of it shaking Marina and making her laugh too. “We'll tell them we were shooting a music video for our latest song and it went wrong,” Pearl says, pushing at Marina's shoulders until Marina lets her up. “I'll bring out the Princess Cannon _every concert_ we do Fly Octo Fly. It'll be the _thing_ . You can do it, go you, come up and join us, we want Octarians in our society, and oh yeah, _booya.”_

Marina can't help but laugh at the image. “How long until people stop bringing breakables to our shows?”

“Three experiences,” Pearl says promptly. “Come on, I wanna watch the sunrise. It's gonna be _gorgeous.”_ Then she smiles, with an edge to it. “And I bet Eight's never seen one, since you didn't, before you left.”

Marina's face heats.

Pearl brushes Marina's tentacle out of her eye. “Hey. Knowing this just means I can almost understand how much it means to you. And that just makes it even more beautiful.”


	36. After

_How you settling in?_

_Pretty well. But, what's the point of all this clothing?_

_Well, different peeps like different looks._

_So, how do I get my hands on this, um, Samurai Jacket?  
_ _I'd never seen one before. I'd like to experience it._

_You like it? Huh. I can get you one._

_Really? Thanks!_

_Awesome. I meant to ask, though, can you teach me Octarian?_

_You... want to learn?_

_Well, it's important to Marina.  
_ _I'd like to surprise her, talking in her native language.  
_ _And I_ really _need to know one sentence, soon as I can._

_Why? You planning to marry her?_

_Rumors! I swear. No, but there's one line in Into The Light that I sing solo.  
_ _Marina sings it alone a few times, I sing it with her a few times._  
 _And I'd like to sing it in Octarian.  
_ _Just one time. The time I sing it alone._

“You want to do _what_ for the next splatfest?!” Marina grips the doorknob to her bedroom.

“Squids VS Octopuses,” Pearl says again.

Marina scowls at her. “That's a _terrible_ idea. I can't believe you'd even _suggest_ it.”

“Explain it to me, Rina.”

Marina lets out a breath. Pearl isn't _stupid_ ; she knows this. “I'm an Octoling,” Marina says. “Inklings, squid. Octolings, octopuses. It's basically a splatfest about which of our species is superior.”

“Except if we phrase it so it's about which sea creature they like more, it's not connected to us,” says Pearl.

Marina fights the urge to slam her door in Pearl's face. She releases the doorknob and crosses the room, flopping to a seat on her bed and bouncing as she crosses her arms. “You can phrase it that way, _sure_ , but every Octoling in Inkopolis is going to know otherwise. They know what the hairstyle fad is, really, and when--”

“What makes you so sure octopuses are gonna lose?”

That stops Marina cold. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Pearl leaps on the bed beside her. “Hear me out. First of all, Splatfests are for _fun_ . Every splatfest we've ever done has been something silly, just a difference in opinion: Baseball and soccer. Pulp and no pulp orange juice. Shell, even the Squid Sisters' splatfests were like that: except for the final fest they screwed up on, they were all things like art or science, burgers or pizza, fancy party or costume party. If we make this a splatfest, then we tell the world it's really _no. Big._ **_Deal.”_ **

Marina stares at her. “But Callie and Marie's final--”

“But this isn't our final fest,” Pearl says. “We've got another year to go. But keep going: if we use our announcement to mention that hairstyle thing, we'll let the other Octarians _know_ we know what's going on. They'll know you know, and you're still on their side, and we're partners. It might help them feel hopeful about it all, ya know?”

Now Marina nods. That could be true.

“If any of them still think they might be hallucinating or whatever--”

“If the squid sisters did a Squid/Octopus splatfest, I'd be questioning whether it was real or not all over again,” Marina says at once. “If it was a hallucination, then the results would either be a complete sweep for squid, to prove how much they actually dislike Octolings and what'll happen if they don't go back, probably with all sorts of angry words in the streets to go along with it, or Squid would only win in popularity to prove how Octarians are superior in every other way.”

“Right, so when it doesn't go that way—I'm gonna guarantee it, Rina—they'll maybe have proof it's not.”

Marina grins. “Yeah, Octolings are too heavily outnumbered for solo wins, but team wins it's _on_. No offense, Pearlie, but that little alley's a joke. If it weren't for popularity, Octopuses may just win.”

“And in the meantime, every inkling on the street will be turning to their friends and going 'Are you going team octopus? I am, brains over brawn.”

“You're joking,” Marina shakes her head. “Squids have _ten limbs_ , they've got an advantage. Octopuses only have eight. You still haven't told me how this--”

“Because everyone'll be talking about it and _no one will be mad.”_ Pearl swings her arms out wide. “Even if anyone _does_ connect it to Inkling Octoling crud from a hundred years ago, they'll be wondering what'd happen if Octolings _weren't_ extinct. Let's play rock-shell-clam before every break to see if we do Fly Octo Fly or Ebb and Flo, and I'll _always_ choose clam because Octopuses are supposed to be smarter than Squid, and you can 'figure it out' about three breaks in, and we can close it out with our new single. First time they get to hear it.”

Marina flops backwards on her bed and smiles at the ceiling. “And then they'll _really_ connect it and wonder if they could have fun in turf wars and ranked battles with Octolings. Plus, they'll see the two or three percent popularity Octopuses get and know they're not alone here. Pearl, you're a genius.”

“Am _not_ ,” Pearl says, leaning over her. She kisses Marina's nose. “So it's a go?”

“I like it,” says Marina. “Let's talk to Mr. Chovy. And _no_ PDA.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end of the fic.
> 
> This started as the idea that grabbed me and wouldn't let go (what if Marina said some of the strange things because she thought this all might just be a dream?) and went from 'I'm not going to write this' to 'This'll just be a short drabble' to the thing you see today in about three and a half months. Maybe less. Some chapters were perfect the first time (well, not spelling/grammar, but basic idea/concept/flow); others (how Marina met Pearl most of all) went through three or four variations. 
> 
> Liberties I took: there's plenty of information we don't know about Marina and Octarian society, and where things aren't sure I made them up. Almost every iteration of Marina I've seen has her as this amazing warrior, because she was part of DJ Octavio's elite Wasabi unit of combat engineers. I'm focusing more on the 'engineer' part: Marina's smart and designs things that deal with combat, but she's not a fighter herself. She has three long tentacles, roughly the same length, and one super short one that serves as a bang (why?). Rooting around for logical explanations, the idea that Marina's tentacle didn't grow right--that she threw herself into her studies at school because of it, that she was sensitive about it--became a constant feature throughout the fic.
> 
> Oh, and Octivus. About all we know about Octivus is Octarians celebrate it and that Marina would rather receive socks than a sweater. I gave it a pretty unique spin.
> 
> With that said, thank you for taking this journey with me. I don't have any other ideas for the Splatoon fandom at the moment, and I'm not interested in adopting others' ideas; I'm honestly bewildered (and delighted and surprised) at how many people here have Splatoon 3 stories, or have given agents 3/4/8 unique personalities, or explore everyday Inkling life. For better or worse, that's not in my head, much as I delight reading it all. And I'm more than done with Marina now.
> 
> Even if I do get an idea for another fic, it'll be a while. I was in the Sly Cooper fandom before I started writing this, and the sequel to my Sly story is... I'm about 22 chapters in and I'm not ready to post any of it yet. I'm *praying* it won't turn into another 108-chapter monstrosity like the first one. But sticking to one story at a time suits me.
> 
> Last of all, I'd like to thank you all for reading this, leaving your kudos, and delighting me day after day with your wonderful comments. I reread them sometimes and smile. Thanks for sticking with me through this.
> 
> ...oh. And just as a meta note: the Octopus VS Squid splatfest official results? Solo battles, squids won; team battles, squids won; popularity, octopuses won. Feel free to take a moment to imagine Marina's face.


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